


The ABC Affair II Challenge stories 2017

by mrua7



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Alphabet, Friendship, Gen, Mystery, Partnership, Spies & Secret Agents, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-05-31 10:35:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 29,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15117581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: A series of twenty six stories with the prompts being letters A through Z.  Each story must involve a town or a city beginning with each letter of the alphabet.  26 stories written and posted in 26 days for the Live Journal ABC Affair II  Challenge.The stories here are fairly short stand-alones, though a few will cross reference to each other.





	1. A is for Anchorage

**Author's Note:**

> DON'T KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON WITH AO3 BUT IT WOULD NOT LET ME POST CHAPTERS V-W-X-Y-Z IN THE CORRECT ORDER!
> 
> SO READ THEM IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER RATHER THAN BY CHAPTER NUMBER. SORRY!

 

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12959486/1/)

It was the evening of Good Friday, not that it mattered to Solo and Kuryakin. They were busy bedding down for the night, having finished their assignment, but there was a delay in leaving as there wasn't a flight scheduled to leave until the next day from the airport southwest of the city of Anchorage.

 

 

"Is this the best you could manage Illya?" Napoleon was wrapped in furs though he was wearing a heavy parka as well as that black and red hunting cap; he refused to tie down the ear flaps.

"Take satisfaction that we had a hearty meal at the D&D cafe in town. Living a bit rough for one night is not that bad."

Napoleon grunted his reply to that.

He and his partner were sitting inside an igloo not far outside the city limits. Kuryakin had made a deal with one of the local Inuits to use it for the night. The man was a bit of an entrepreneur who built a few of the traditional lodgings in which tourists could stay. So far he wasn't having much luck.

Kuryakin still managed to talk him down in price as it was just for the night, and since there were no other takers the man gave in to the Russian's negotiations.

The price paid would at least keep Accounting happy. Napoleon on the other hand wasn't thrilled.

"Sorry, there were no hotel rooms available. Igloos however, can be quite comfortable if…"

Napoleon quirked his head to the side, unable to resist taking a jab at his partner," I suppose if you don't burn one down..."

"I knew I was going to eventually regret telling you that story.* Am I going to hear complaints from you if I start a fire?"

"Be my guest, but just be careful."

Illya flashed him a cold-eyed stare as he tossed some kindling into the small fire pit, though he glanced up to make sure there was an opening in the roof of the igloo to vent the heat. Minutes later he had a roaring fire going, and he added more wood to it.

The landlord supplied it, though there were no questions asked as to its source.

"Are you sure that's not too hot?" Solo asked. "Won't it melt the igloo.

"No, as you can see inside of the igloo is tiered, with the uppermost level being where we sleep, the middle is where the fire is located. The bottom level serves as a cold sump. The principle is that all the coldest air from inside the igloo runs downward off the terraces and collects in the bottom, thus allowing the upper portions to stay warmer. The entrance for the igloo also at the bottom, and includes at least one right angle, which keeps any wind from blowing straight inside and chilling we the residents or from blowing out the fire, that and the hole in the top take advantage of underlying physics, and the …"

"Okay Doctor Kuryakin, I get it. No need to continue your science lecture."

Illya flashed a brief smile as he climbed beneath the furs, leaving on his pale blue parka; he flipped up the fur-lined hood over his blond head and settled in for the night. Though it was still daylight, they were both tired. They'd have to be up early the next day to catch their flight.

No sooner had they closed their eyes when the ground shook violently and the igloo began to disintegrate around them.

"Illya what the hell have you done now!" Napoleon barked as the two of them scrambled to get out.

The ground was rippling and they watched as their igloo, as well as nearby structures buckle.

" _Earthquake!"_ The agents yelled as they realized what was happening. There was nothing they could do but ride it out, though it was a pretty violent one both agents were uninjured.

.

A week later they sat in their office in New York, with Illya reading the newspaper articles on the Alaskan earthquake.

"It was the largest quake recorded in North American history and was 400 times the total energy of all nuclear bombs ever exploded to date. The event unleashed a colossal 200,000 megatons of energy, destroying buildings and infrastructure in Anchorage and far beyond; raising the land as much as 30 feet in some places; and sparking a major underwater landslide in Prince William Sound, which killed scores of people when the resulting waves slammed into Port Valdez. The 9.2 magnitude quake which struck around 5:30 in the evening on Good Friday, and its many powerful aftershocks caused hundreds of millions of dollars in damage, killing more than 130 people."

"We were more than lucky tovarisch,"Napoleon took the paper from his partner. "I think experiencing it was enough for me; I don't need to hear more about it."

"Lucky that we did not stay in town that is,"Illya said.

"All right, yes being in that igloo might have saved our lives."

" _Might?"_

"Okay okay, did save our for lunch then?" Napoleon quickly changed the subject. "How about Changs?"

"Good idea. I could go for the Pu-Pu platter, possibly beef with broccoli and some fried dumplings."

Napoleon stood, putting on his suit jacket, not even commenting on his partner's cravings.

"Life goes on, doesn't it?"

"As it must my friend, as it must." Kuryakin nodded.

.

*ref to ["Lieutenant Kuryakin's claim to fame" ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11871300/1/Lieutenant-Kuryakin-s-claim-to-fame)

 


	2. B is for Baraboo

  
  


[](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12959486/2/The-ABC-Affair-II-Challenge-stories)

 

 

It was an assignment that would require a different set of skills for Solo and Kuryakin, well...sort of.

They'd tracked their quarry to a place called Baraboo Wisconsin, a town famous for being the winter home of the Ringling Brothers, Barnum and Bailey Circus.

It was not exactly to Kuryakin's liking as Napoleon had secured a position as a knife thrower in the winter rehearsals, while he was yet again relegated to wearing a clown costume.

As Illya held up the orange wig and a bulbous red nose, he complained to his partner.

"Why must I be the one to wear this ridiculous costume, while you get to dress as a caped Spanish matador?"

"Because the job of a knife thrower requires showmanship and panache, both of which I possess in spades. I'll need your keen eyes to be watching the audience for our feathered friend. I've seen you work the crowd in a clown suit before and you do a masterful job of it tovarisch. You know the target is going to be out there as he's a fanatic for the circus,especially clowns. You'll have a better chance of spotting him than I will."

"Then why will you not be dressed as a clown as well?"

"There was only one clown position available, and you did it so well the last time we were roped into a an assignment in a circus."

What could he say? Napoleon had just given him a compliment...or did he merely manipulate him, as usual? Still Illya was better at throwing a knife...not that it mattered as it was all rigged anyway.

Solo would appear to throw the knives, but the background in front of which the beautiful and scantily clad female assistant would stand, had spring loaded knives that would pop out, handle first appearing as Napoleon had thrown them.

"I wish I could dress differently, like the clowns in the European circuses. They at least have more dignity than these ridiculous red Bozo noses and so forth."

"Illya Illya…"Solo clicked his tongue."It's going to be one night at the most, so get over it please?"

"Very well, but next time I get to play something more interesting."

"How about the bearded lady?" He quickly apologized upon seeing his partner's reaction."Sorry, we'll talk about it when the time comes, tovarisch," Napoleon winked.

Illya had his doubts that would ever happen...

 


	3. C is for Cairo

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12959486/3/The-ABC-Affair-II-Challenge-stories)

 

Napoleon and Illya made a pit stop, as they'd driven straight through from Washington D.C. They were now in the little enclave of Cairo NY; it was a place small enough that if you blinked, you could miss it.

Like other towns in the Catskill mountains, Cairo had once been a vacation enclave, a place to get away from it all for a weekend or the summer.

While Jewish vacationers flocked to the borscht belt in the southwest, the Italians, Germans and Irish created their own enclaves here where the staples were sauerbraten, ziti, rashers and bangers, not borscht.

They offered cheap escapes such as hayrides and bocce ball, shuffleboard and step dances, and as the people here said, they did some business in their day.

But these escapes had seen their heyday and were fading away into memory. Now a drive through the Greene County hills in midsummer, once the height of the resort season, had become a kind of an expedition into the recreational habits of a faded civilization.

There were weed strewn lots, rusted neon signs that once drew attention to nightly entertainment and wildflowers sprouted from the cracks of what were once in ground pools. Some resorts had been converted into cheap apartments; others retreat centers for religious organizations.

None of these faded places were the final destination of Solo and Kuryakin, instead they were headed farther north to the Solo family cabin that was built near a secluded lake. It was a great place to unwind, which is what the partners needed to do after a series of non-stop assignments.

Napoleon and Illya decided to spend the night in Cairo before heading up to were both dead tired, and neither man was in the mood to soldier on; it was after all their vacation and there was no rush.

The minute they'd filed their report via video link on their successful assignment in Virginia to Mister Waverly back in New York, they were free to do as they wished for the next week.

Napoleon invited his partner up to the family cabin, and Illya gratefully accepted. For once the Russian had no desire to be holed up in his apartment with his dusty books, though he loved them and his jazz records...he needed a change of scenery.

Not injured per se; he was bruised enough at the hands of their THRUSH captors this time that it made him want to curl up and not move...except to drink his vodka. The Solo cabin was a more peaceful setting in which to do it. No city noise or lights, just a serene rural setting away from it all.

He planned to get pickled this week and nothing more, that was if Napoleon would let him be.

They already had some luggage with them, and there was clothing still at the cabin from their last visit; no need to stop in New York at all. If they did, they were both concerned the Old Man would send them off on another assignment, though neither man voiced it, they both thought it.

The hotel room in which they spent the night in Cairo had dark wood paneling on the walls, the bed spreads didn't match the color of the drapes, and the carpet was a sickly shade of pea green. There were no lamps, only an overhead light fixture.

The room looked like it hadn't been renovated or dusted for that matter in twenty years, but it was just for the night anyway.

They both slept like the dead, still dead who would awaken perhaps Zombie-like for a split second; their guns were under their pillows should anything be amiss. Happily, nothing was, except for Illya's allergies acting up...he sneezed a lot.

The next morning they sought out breakfast in a nearby cafe.

It was nothing special, just mismatched tables and chairs, and faded red and white checkered were vases on the tables with plastic flowers in them. The wood floors had long since lost their lustre and the curtains on the windows were simple white lace that had seen too many washings.

The place however was clean, and that counted for something; Napoleon and Illya weren't there for atmosphere.

The menu was basic with eggs prepared several ways, hotcakes too. There was a choice of ham steak, sausage or bacon. Toast, orange juice. Not very Italian considering this was Italian country in the Catskills.

The only thing on the menu that was Italian was cornetti which were croissant-like pastries filled with marmalade, cream or chocolate.

The partners ordered scrambled eggs, hotcakes, bacon, orange juice, and the cornetti of course as well as nice hot black coffee for Solo and tea for Kuryakin.

No cappuccino on the menu was also a surprise.

The portions, when they arrived, were more than generous, that was a good point about eating at an out of the way place.

"Sorry if my sneezing kept you awake last night Napoleon," Illya bit into a piece of bacon, the flavor of which was so good that it showed on his face. "It was terribly dusty in our room, with a hint of mildew."

Solo laughed,"It never occurred to us that we could have had separate rooms. We're not on the company's dime. "

"Force of habit, since we are so accustomed to shared hotel rooms while on assignment,"

"Well at least we'll have our own rooms when we get to the cabin. We can stop off and get our food supplies before we get there."

"Yes I remember the place...and do not forget the liquor store; as long as I have my vodka I will be happy."

"Are you feeling all right? Since when is food not a priority with you tovarisch?"

"I will amend my statement to vodka _and_ food."

"Maybe we can do some fishing from the dock on the lake and catch some fresh fish for lunch or dinner?" Napoleon said.

"Fishing would be better done from a boat, would it not?"

"I'd rather stay on the dock."

"Napoleon I find it so odd that a man who sails out to sea on his yacht is afraid of the water. Perhaps it is time to get over that phobia."

"This coming from a man who's afraid of dogs and can't get over it."

"Fair play," Illya nodded."Perhaps one day we will both overcome our hang-ups."

"Crazy when you think how we face death all the time without a second thought." Napoleon pushed his plate away, as he was stuffed.

"Are you not going to finish that?" Illya eyed it.

"Be my guest," Napoleon smiled.

" **Beep** -beep- **beep** -beep- **beep** -beep." Solo's communicator called to him.

He pulled it out and quickly assembled it; luckily no one was nearby to have heard its signal.

"Solo here."

"Ah yes Mister Solo, sorry to be the bearer of ill tidings." It was Waverly of course.

"We have a situation that requires your and Mister Kuryakin's immediate attention. I do apologize, as I know you were beginning your holiday. I need you to go to the Marist Brothers Retreat in Esopus. Brother Donald there is a friend and contacted me this morning. He suspects a group who has recently rented out the retreat center is up to no good. Report to me when you've assessed the situation. Waverly out."

Napoleon looked at his partner whose demeanor had changed, he was now sneering.

"You realize we are heading in the wrong direction, as we are backtracking south and it is about an hour of driving," Illya as usual had to point out the obvious.

"Thank you for reminding me. Looks like it's no rest for the wicked," Solo mumbled.

"Or the weary," Illya sighed."I hope the brothers have a good cook."

"Really? You just ate breakfast and you're thinking about lunch already?"

"I need to get that bottle of vodka off my mind," Illya shrugged.

"Fair enough," Napoleon paid their bill and they hit the road on assignment...again. Right now he was wishing he had a bottle of scotch.

 


	4. D is for Denver

 

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12959486/4/The-ABC-Affair-II-Challenge-stories)

Illya Kuryakin was a skilled pilot whether he was at the controls of a helicopter or a jet plane; he could fly just about anything.

At the moment he was going to need all his skills as a Piper Cub he was piloting, one he'd stolen from his captors, was running low on fuel.

It was a move of desperation as Napoleon had been shot while they were escaping; he was sitting in the passenger seat beside his partner and barely conscious.

Kuryakin had stuffed his white shirt over the wound in Napoleon's side and wrapped a bit of wire around it to hold it in place, but still he could see the red blossom that had formed on the cloth.

He looked from his partner and nervously eyed the fuel gauge of the small plane. It was nearly empty.

He'd neglected to check it when he'd taken off, not that he had time to refuel as the THRUSH agents who'd held him and Solo prisoner had discovered they'd escaped.

Five of the goons were now in pursuit by car; they were driving behind the small private runway shooting in vainas they were not quite close enough.

The small plane rose into the air, and Kuryakin took a heading he knew would take them to Denver airport.

After a short while they were getting close but the fuel gauge was now on fumes.

Switching on the radio; it was time to make a distress call. He spoke into the mic on his headset.

"Mayday Mayday Mayday." Illya looked to the call sign taped to the instrument panel. " Denver tower this is flight Alpha-Tango-Sierra-Niner-Seven. Am out of fuel. Request coordinates for a runway...emergency landing. Will need ambulance for wounded passenger. Mayday Mayday."

"Alpha-Tango-Sierra-Niner-Seven, this is Denver tower, proceed on heading…"

Illya realized he wasn't going to make it the airport, and informed the tower.

"Negative Negative. Cancel that. Must attempt an a landing now."

"Where Alpha-Tango-Sierra-Niner-Seven? I repeat what is the location?"

Illya couldn't really answer him. The only place he could bring it down was on a busy highway. Denver was connected by a maze of different roads, and at the moment he didn't know which one it was.

The plane slowly descended as Illya fought the controls, lower and lower until his was weaving past the many cars beneath him.

He spotted and opening and brought the plane down, managing to land it while avoiding hitting any cars.

There were a lot of screeching brakes and stunned drivers surrounding the Piper Cub. Traffic was snarled for miles as police and ambulances finally arrived.

Solo was taken to the nearest hospital, leaving his partner to deal with the authorities. Illya had no identification on himself and after convincing the police to contact Alexander Waverly in New York, everything was settled and he wasn't thrown in jail.

He finally made his way to the hospital and to his partner's bedside. Napoleon had already been in surgery and woke a bit groggy, but he could see Illya seated beside his bed.

"Hello there tovarisch," Solo's voice cracked."You know you are one crazy Russian, landing that plane in the middle of a busy highway."

Kuryakin cocked his head to the side, wondering how his partner knew, as he'd been unconscious while in the plane.

"Yes I know," Kuryakin let a shy smile reveal itself. "If I did not land it when I had, we both would have surely died a fiery death, and perhaps taking others with us. The risk saved your life; no one was hurt, that is what matters."

"You were lucky."

"Luck? I think not; it was skill."

"Whatever you say partner," Solo closed his eyes. One popped open again. "Thanks for saving me."

Illya didn't answer as Solo drifted back to sleep. It was his duty to save his CEA, but still Napoleon was more than that, he was his friend.

 


	5. E is for East Brunswick

 

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12959486/5/The-ABC-Affair-II-Challenge-stories)

Solo and Kuryakin mingled among the guests at a reception held in the Lawrence Brook School in a little town called East Brunswick, in New Jersey.

There, Senator Donald Smith, one of the three aspirants for the Republican nomination for governor of the state, smiled his approval of a poster on the wall.

It was created by one of the students and was being admired by the Senator, Mrs. Miller the school principal and Mrs. Margaret Quigley the co-chairman of the Smith organization in Middlesex county.

What brought the men from U.N.C.L.E. here was a death threat made against the Senator. He was told if he didn't drop out of the race, then he would end up a dead man.

Apparently Donald Smith didn't take the threat seriously and wasn't happy about the agent's presence. He was a Vietnam veteran, a former Green Beret and felt he could take care of himself. Still he permitted the U.N.C.L.E. agents to tag along.

No disguises were needed, Solo and Kuryakin merely mingled among the guests, still keeping and eye on Smith, and those approaching him.

The Senator's wife, Elaine Dumont-Smith, was an old friend of Alexander Waverly's; she'd contacted him for help since her husband wouldn't listen to reason. That was where Solo and Kuryakin came into the picture.

She was a beautiful and cultured woman, shapely with blonde hair and seemingly the opposite of her husband who was a bit on the 'earthy' side.

"They say opposites attract," Napoleon whispered. He was never the one to ignore the presence of a beautiful woman.

Illya shook his head."We are not here to judge my friend, only to protect."

Napoleon ignored his partner's reproach.

The night proceeded peacefully, but Napoleon and Illya continued to keep a sharp eye on Senator Smith.

No one new had entered the gymnasium once the event began. It was teachers, parents, a few older students present, as well as constituents known to the Senator, mainly men who had contributed to his campaign.

Everything was going smoothly so far but in the agent's minds that didn't mean were home free just yet.

Refreshments and appetizers were served, with the students acting as waiters as they distributed the food and drink without incident.

Though Napoleon and Illya had champagne glasses in their hands they didn't partake, nor did they eat any of the none too appetizing hors d'oeuvres. Even Illya had no interest in Ritz crackers with peanut butter and olives, just one among a many odd combinations that were apparently prepared by the school children for the occasion.

The Senator passed on the hors d'oeuvres as well, only having a bit of champagne when Mrs. Miller offered a toast to his success.

He was about to step up to a small podium to say a few words that would signal an end to the evening. Smith stopped, dropping his glass of champagne as it shattered to pieces. He fell on the stage, clawing at his throat. Mrs. Smith dropped her glass as well and collapsed seconds after her husband but on the gymnasium floor doing the same as the Senator. Seconds later their muscles began to spasm.

Napoleon was first to the Senator's side, and knew immediately what was wrong as he loosened the man's tie.

"He's been poisoned! Call for an ambulance!" He shouted to Illya, who was seeing to the Senator's wife. Kuryakin pulled his communicator and after making the emergency call he saw the principal skulking out of the gym. She was definitely up to no good...

There was nothing he could do for the wife, and he left her in the capable hands of Mrs. Quigley and a physical education teacher who said he knew first aid.

Taking off after the principal, he stepped out into a dimly lit hallway.

A shot was fired from the end of the hall; the bullet ricocheting against the cinderblock wall behind him. Kuryakin quickly returned fire, targeting the muzzle flash in the darkness. Mrs. Miller was dead with the smoking gun still in her hand. After searching her, he found a vial marked strychnine in her pocket; at least they could tell the hospital what poison was used, that was if the Smiths lived.

Multiple ambulances arrived, and somehow the Senator and Mrs. Smith did miraculously survive. Apparently Mrs. Miller, if that was even her real name, hadn't used a strong enough dose. Whether that was intentional or a miscalculation on her part, they'd never know since she was dead.

Waverly wasn't happy, but in the end he understood how what had happened was not preventable. He joked about the food tasters of old being brought back, though he realized it was a somewhat inappropriate remark.

Mrs. Smith and the Senator recovered, though he hired his own security team after the incident. He went on to win the Republican nomination, but eventually lost the governorship to his Democratic opponent.

It took time to investigate, and it was discovered Mrs. Miller was a THRUSH operative named Delilah Withers. Other THRUSH infiltrators in the area were eventually identified and rounded up by U.N.C.L.E. Though they hadn't committed a crime per se, typical of most Thrushies, they sang like a bird when questioned.

The candidate who'd been belonged to the Hierarchy was running as an independent, and never really had a chance of winning. New Jersey had an ongoing history of tight races between the Democrats and the Republicans, with no room for a candidate running on an independent platform. Waverly wondered what THRUSH had even been thinking on this one?

The new governor was clean for now, but that didn't mean they wouldn't keep a watchful eye on him down the road to make sure he wasn't turned.

T.H.R.U.S.H. sticking its beak into the political affairs at the local and state levels was something new; it would no doubt keep Napoleon, Illya and the rest of Section II busy.

Maybe keeping UNCLE's best occupied this way was yet another of the THRUSH's schemes, using politics as a diversion while they were onto bigger plans?

Only time would tell.

 


	6. F is for Fort Myers

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12959486/6/The-ABC-Affair-II-Challenge-stories)

Napoleon was sailing the Pursang alone, hugging the east coast in a southerly direction. Once passing the Florida Keys he'd head up into the Gulf of Mexico

It was a leisurely journey and storm free, with his final destination being that of Fort Myers in Florida. He could stay on his yacht, but a friend had offered Napoleon the use of their beach house. Nothing wrong with that at all.

He hadn't taken out his yacht in a long time and it felt wonderful to have the salty sea air and wind in his hair, and not have to worry about it being unkempt.

He had three glorious weeks all to himself to do with as he pleased; he'd been on light duty because of an injury but the Old Man decided to get him out from underfoot and send him on vacation. He was past due for one anyway.

Illya was off on his own assignments and though Solo missed his friend and partner, it was nice to be without him or anyone else for that matter. It was just Solo being solo, with the wind at his back and it was thoroughly rejuvenating.

Kuryakin joked,"Absence makes the heart grow fonder. We will be back working together soon enough my friend. Just enjoy yourself, as only you can. Kuryakin out."

Napoleon smiled as he recalled his partner saying that, though it was ten days ago and that was the last he'd spoken to Illya. He didn't have to worry about him; the cunning little Russian could take care of himself, but still deep down inside he was concerned about not being there to have Illya's back.

He finally sailed into one of the Fort Myers marinas. After paying for a slip for the boat, he headed out to house and after settling in it was time to go to the beach and get some sun. Everything he needed as in the house; a blanket, beach chair, suntan lotion, and cooler containing a nice lunch and refreshments. His friend had left the fridge and pantry fully stocked. That was a pleasant surprise.

Chicken legs and wings, a couple of ham and swiss sandwiches, coleslaw, potato salad, potato chips, pretzels and beer. He laughed at himself when he realized he'd packed way too much food. It was force of habit as he was so accustomed to being with his partner who could eat a the hind legs off a cow...in one sitting. He laughed, as that was such an incongruous image of Illya. Still the man did have a voracious appetite, and never seemed to gain a pound.

Napoleon had a funny feeling it would all catch up with the man in his later years. Napoleon being ever the optimist truly believed Illya and he would survive to the retirement age of 40 for agents. After that they were free to marry and start families if they so chose and he wondered what it would be like to be with the same woman for the rest of his life.

After slathering on his suntan lotion, Napoleon settled back in his chair; his dark glasses shading his eyes from the brightness of the sun. It was a gorgeous day and not a cloud in the sky. He could hear the call of seagulls, and somewhere someone was playing a transistor radio; the music sounded like the Beatles.

_"One day, you'll look To see I've gone But tomorrow may rain, so I'll follow the sun One day, you'll know I was the one But tomorrow may rain, so I'll follow the sunAnd now the time has come. And so, my love, I must go. And though you lose a friend in the end you will know. Oh-oh-oh..."_

That made him think of Clara. Familiarity, companionship...love were something he longed for and he hoped it would happen again one day. He couldn't commit to one woman because firstly, the rules against agents marrying, and secondly because it was a dangerous occupation. How could he put a woman through the worry of wondering if her man would survive his job day after day.

Right now in his life, he wasn't at a loss for female companionship but there were no strings attached and the ladies he dated and bedded knew that. None of them knew they helped fill the void, the loneliness that haunted him since he and Clara had parted ways...all because of the Command...* He dismissed those thoughts; he was here to take it easy.

Watching the bikini clad girls frolicking in the waves suddenly became his entertainment. Maybe he'd try to mingle with them later on, but now it was time to just relax.

"Hi," a woman spoke to him. He looked up, lifting his sunglasses to rest atop his head.

"Why hello there," he smiled at her, that smile grew to a grin. Standing next to him was a pretty blonde with her hair in a long ponytail, she was dressed in the tiniest red bikini he'd ever seen, and leaving very little to imagination.

"Do you mind if I borrow your lotion? I seem to have forgotten mine."

"Sure," he held the bottle to her. "My name is Eddie," he lied of course, thinking it better to err on the side of caution.

"Oh good, Coppertone, that's what I use. My name is Carol by the way."

"Do you want some help putting it on your back?"

"If you don't mind," she smiled.

He was smiling inside, his earlier melancholy thoughts were gone and now he was thinking this was going to be an even better vacation than he first anticipated.

"Carol would you care to join me for lunch...I seem to have brought way too much food." He opened the cooler, showing her.

"I'm not very hungry right now, but I'll take a beer if you don't mind. You're not a local are you?"

"No, how can you tell?"

"You're not tan enough," she laughed.

"I plan to remedy that," he opened the beer with a church key and handed it to her.

"You fly down here for the spring break? A lot of people from up north do that this time of year."

"I think I'm a little old for spring break," he laughed. "I sailed my yacht down from Long Island where I keep her berthed. She's a 30 ft a gorgeous, like yourself. I have her in the marina near here.

"You have a yacht? I've never been on one before."

"I think that could be arranged." Napoleon sipped his beer.

"Really? Wow that would be great. Hmm, maybe I'll take a chicken leg after all." Her smile was heavenly, as was her body as she stretched out on the blanket.

"Oh yes, good vacation for sure," Napoleon mused to himself. For once he was really glad Illya wasn't around, though in the back of his mind he could hear his partner's voice cautioning him to be careful."

"I will," he said out loud.

"What did you say Eddie?" Carol asked.

"Oh nothing…" he shrugged nonchalantly as he started applying the lotion to her back.

.

.

The Pursang was first coined as the name of Solo's yacht by St. Crispins

* ref to Clara from 'The Terbuf Affair'

 


	7. G is for Grover's Mill

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12959486/7/The-ABC-Affair-II-Challenge-stories)

 

"I can't believe you set up a meeting with a contact here of all places," Napoleon groused.

"I did not make these arrangements, the contact chose it. What is wrong with this place? It seems like a typical small town and nothing more." Illya was a bit confused by his partner's remark.

"You have no idea where we are then?"

"Other than a town called Grover's Mill, no. Enlighten me if you would?"

"This is the place where the Martians invaded earth."

The Russian was taken aback by that," Do not be ridiculous, no such thing has ever happened!"

"Well not a real invasion,"Napoleon smiled." The town was made famous thanks to Orson Welles' radio broadcast of _The War of the Worlds._ It was depicted as the epicenter of a Martian invasion on October 30, 1938. The town and the nation were in a panic from the broadcast, thinking it was rea. Murderous Martians had invaded Earth, their unlikely first landfall was here in Grovers Mill, outside Princeton.

Some of the local people put their families in their cars and drove out of town. I remember hearing the broadcast as a kid and I remember this part word for word…it scared the hell out of me."

" _Good heavens, something's wriggling out of the shadow like a gray snake. Now it's another one, and another. They look like tentacles to me. There, I can see the thing's body. It's large, large as a bear and it glistens like wet leather. But that face, it ... Ladies and gentlemen, it's indescribable!"_ Napoleon mimicked the speaker. "It was perfect to scare people the night before Halloween."

"How could people have been that gullible?" Illya asked.

"Well it was 1938, radio was the important form of entertainment for people who didn't have access to the theatre or the picture shows," Napoleon shrugged. At that exact moment Solo froze as a glistening hand with long fingers like wet leather grabbed hold of his shoulder.

He spun round, drawing his gun and aimed at the creature that was indeed as large as a bear. It had a bulbous head, no nose, large black eyes and a tiny mouth. Illya too turned, his eyes wide, still he drew his weapon, aiming at it as well.

"Wait wait, don't shoot, don't shoot!" A muffled voice spoke. The creature reached up, slipping its head from its body. It was a mask of course.

"You Solo and Kuryakin?"

"Yes," they answered in unison, but breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm Louis Savino, I'm the contact you're supposed to meet. I have information...for a price."

"How about we go somewhere a bit less obvious Louis, say that alleyway?" Napoleon pointed across the street.

The agents followed behind the costumed man donned his mask again, once there in the alley he removed it again.

"So we need a taste of what you have to offer before we pay," Illya said.

"All right," Louis said. "Wait if I give you a little, it won't make sense. How much you willing to pay me anyway?"

"How much do you want?"Solo asked.

"How about a thousand bucks. That'll be enough for me to get out of this podunk town, start a new life and find a decent job, not involving wearing a stupid costume."

"That is a bit pricey," Illya said. "Tell us what you know and you have our word we will give you at least half that, and if your information is worth it, then you will have your asking price."

"Fair enough," Louis craned his neck to make sure no one else was around." There's a small THRUSH satrapy in Princeton and the people there are spying on the scientists at the university. Some sort of secret government project they're trying to get their hands on."

"Do you know what project?"Napoleon asked.

"No details other than it involves Atomic research."

The asking price was paid and the agents watched as their alien friend stripped off his costume and left it where it lay in the alley before dashing off to his new future.

Kuryakin gathered it up and carried it to their car.

"A souvenir for this one tovarisch?"

"No, I can use it for a costume at April's Halloween partner…"

Napoleon pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers as he shook his head...

 


	8. H is for Hiroshima

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12959486/8/The-ABC-Affair-II-Challenge-stories)

 

Agents Solo and Kuryakin had navigated the crowds in the city of Hiroshima, not far from the area of the atom bomb memorial center. The ceremonies marking the 18th anniversary of the atom bomb attack on the city were taking place.

Every year people gathered at what was left of the Genbaku Dome. It was the only building left standing near the center of the bomb's blast and its skeletal remains stood as a stark reminder of that day in August when countless innocents lost their lives, and those who lived through it were still suffering the effects of the radiation.

The agents arrived at their destination, a THRUSH satrapy on the outskirts of the city, and after a brief gun battle Solo and Kuryakin were free to search the building for something very important, perhaps the most important information they would ever need to find.

At last they located it. "This is obscene," Napoleon said. He held up a document showing a replica of 'Little Big Boy,' the bomb that was dropped on Hiroshima in 1945.

"For THRUSH to have gotten their hands on this and other redacted material from the United States does not bode well," Illya said. "And for them to bring it here to this city that suffered so is...is inhuman. Why here of all places?"

"Making statement perhaps...they like to do that don't they? Still their name says it all… _The Technological Hierarchy for the Removal of Undesirables and the Subjugation of Humanity,"Napoleon nodded._ "They're hell bent on the destruction and enslavement of the people of the world. They're insane Illya, I swear they really are."

"We can only hope we have found all the material before the Hierarchy could act upon it, but that is something we can not presume," Illya shook his head in disbelief."If they have already built a bomb... we could be too late. They are nothing but animals." surprisingly Illya was being his usual calm and cool self, in spite of what they'd discovered.

"That's an insult to the animal kingdom,"Solo nodded," We have our work cut out for us tovarisch, as does the world."

Illya held up an letter. It was addressed to the Los Alamos Scientific Laboratory in Los Alamos New Mexico, though some of it had been redacted, with sentences blackened out by marker. When he held it up to the light the typing beneath the marker was still readable. Not a very good security measure at all...

"This indicates discussion regarding the refiring of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombs in the air over Nevada to measure their radiation levels in a controlled setting. I wonder if THRUSH could have been involved with this proposal?"

"I think that's how they got their hands on this information, someone there pushing for these test just might have been a member of THRUSH."

Napoleon looked at the bottom of the page, the signature was blacked out enough that it was unreadable, but oddly there was a stamp clearly stating that the document had been declassified. Bingo, that's how they got it. Somehow someone had it declassified?"

"Or it could have been someone at Los Alamos."

Napoleon could hear just a faint hint of tension in Illya's voice, something due to familiarity that only he could sense.

Though a member of the U.N.C.L.E. his partner was still a Soviet and had the worry hanging over his head of a nuclear attack against his home. What if THRUSH launched such an attack and made it look like the Americans were guilty? World War III would erupt and the birds would be left to scavenge what was left."

"Thankfully the tests never took place," Napoleon said. "Someone had the brains to keep it from happening."

"There is a question that still begs asking; how did all this classified information get into the hands of THRUSH and make its way to Japan?" Illya asked.

"Good question tovarisch. It's obvious the U.S. government has had a major security breach somewhere. Perhaps with the tests not happening in Nevada, THRUSH moved its plans to reenact the them here. It would send an horrific message to the world."

"Mister Waverly will have to speak to his contacts in the Pentagon, and I am sure he and they will not be happy."

"That's an understatement Illya. Now let's gather everything and get it to our Tokyo office."

"And a clean up crew for the dead Thrushies," Kuryakin added.

"No, for once let them rot where they lay." Napoleon sneered; his eternally optimistic voice finally revealed his anger.

It was rare for Solo to let it show, unlike his partner who had a bit of a temper, yet Illya for once was remaining unemotional. Still Napoleon was sure beneath that cool demeanor, Illya Kuryakin was seething, and perhaps a just bit frightened.

Napoleon knew he was frightened as well...

 


	9. I is for Izu

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12959486/9/The-ABC-Affair-II-Challenge-stories)

Japan was probably one of the most beautiful countries to which Solo and Kuryakin had been sent on assignment and barring the distasteful mission they'd be on in Hiroshima, which prevented another disaster of atomic proportions; their trip now to the countryside was most welcome.

Still an assignment was an assignment, and they wouldn't let their surroundings make them lose sight of that fact.

No matter how many times they'd been there, the countryside, unlike the hustle and bustle of the cities, gave them a sense of peace and tranquility. Yet that might be the lull before the storm.

The region where they were at the moment was hilly and most of it covered by dense forest.

The Kano River ran through the city of Izu which had a short coastline to the west on Suruga Bay on the Pacific. There were a number of hot springs warmed by the warm Kuroshio Current. The climate was comfortable at the moment though the summers could be humid and the winters cool but mild. It was an ultimately serene setting.

That serenity was being disturbed by the interference of a nefarious sort, but was it THRUSH? It remained to be seen if that had converged on the area after their failure in Hiroshima. But like moths to a flame they were drawn in no matter how many times they failed.

They didn't give up, but then neither did U.N.C.L.E.

During the Edo period, the area outside Izo had been known for its production of gold and other ores, but the last commercial mining operation was finally closed some time ago.

There'd been intelligence indicating unusual activity in what was once a nearby gold mine. Operatives from headquarters in Tokyo had been sent to investigate, but were never heard from again.

As Solo and Kuryakin peered with their binoculars through the lush vegetation, they spied men resembling miners moving in and out of the entrance to the Shimada Gold mine. There were also others wearing white lab coats, and one of them they immediately recognized.

He was Doctor Daisuke Serizawa, though now he wore a black patch over one of his eyes.

"Guess he has found new funding for his research," Illya whispered.

Solo and Kuryakin had met the doctor previously when he'd tried to steal a valuable portrait from the Edo period.

They'd been tasked to accompany that valuable piece of Japanese artwork, an heirloom and treasure belonging to the Tokugawa family descended from the last of the Shogunates, to an exhibit of the Edo period in New York City.

The Lady Michiko, who was the direct descendant of Shogun Tokugawa Yoshinobu, had been duped by Serizawa.

The doctor claimed to be on the verge of a making a great discovery in his research on the elements... their effects upon other objects and organisms. He claimed to have discovered a new element, a 'micro-oxygen' that could create a destructive chemical reaction capable of liquefying molecules by separating their oxygen atoms.*

Napoleon and Illya had arrived at the mine just in time as trucks were being loaded with equipment; they overheard the next destination being Odo Island, which was part of the Izu Islands.

It was time to follow the doctor there to see what he was he was doing...

.

[.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14698509/chapters/33965928)

[* ref to "The House of Bamboo Affair"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14698509/chapters/33965928)

.

.

Note: Doctor Daisuke Serizawa is a character from the original 1954 movie Godzilla, though I've altered him a bit, making him a more of bad guy instead. Odo Island is where Godzilla first appears... and is supposedly killed in the first movie by Dr. Serizawa's oxygen destroyer. Cool movie, unlike the rest of the Godzilla series.

 


	10. J is for Joseph

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12959486/10/The-ABC-Affair-II-Challenge-stories)

 

It wasn't hard for Kuryakin to realize he was being followed while in headquarters. Everywhere he went Miss Harriet Smith seemed to be there, though she appeared to be working the woman also seemed to be trying to catch a glimpse of the Russian.

At first it was amusing to him, finding a girl apparently willing to work that hard to see him. It seemed harmless enough, and there were plenty of women in headquarters who practically melted if he said word one to them. He found that amusing as well.

He never led any of them on though; he made it a point of avoiding dating anyone from work, but there were a few times he'd made an exception to that rule.

Unlike his partner, Kuryakin was very selective and discreet about his choices in female companions.

Miss Smith had been vetted quite some time ago and was hired to work in the secretarial pool, but was eventually she was promoted to the translation section.

The girl was pretty, blonde with blue eyes and nicely built, that wasn't lost on the Russian at all. She was intelligent enough and her translation skills seemed more than satisfactory.

Lately though she was becoming emboldened and felt the need to greet him at every turn, asking him how he was, and if there were anything with which she could help him.

"No, thank you Miss Smith. As I have told you previously I am not in need of assistance from you or anyone else for that matter. If I was, I would ask." His tone of voice was brusque, but no more so than he would have used with anyone else.

Miss Smith took it as a rebuff and she became red in the face, taking off around the corner in a huff.

Not twenty minutes later she showed up in his lab bringing him a peace offering, a hot cup of tea and a slice of double chocolate, chocolate cake.

He thanked her but excused himself as not being able to chat as he had an experiment with which he was busy and needed to carefully monitor the results. That was actually the truth.

She left, though not agitated, but she still seemed a bit out of sorts.

Illya sipped his tea, taking note that it was exactly how he liked it, sweetened with seedless raspberry jam, then of course there was the chocolate cake. He was extremely fond of anything chocolate. He suddenly found it just a little unnerving that she seemed to know these things.

Illya stepped to a computer terminal, accessing the personnel files, not Miss Smith's but his own, putting in an inquiry as to who accessed it last. Agent's files were considered classified, and Illya's even more so, given his Soviet background.

"Bingo," he blurted out, as Napoleon would say.

Somehow Harriet Smith had overridden the security measures, but her access code was plainly visible to someone with Illya's level of security clearance.

Her accessing his file was more than a red flag warning, and Illya continued to check to see what other files she had looked at, as she was most likely a mole.

Nothing, just his personal file was breached.

Illya contacted Security, as well as Mr Waverly and apprised them of the situation.

Suspecting it was nothing more than an unhealthy obsession with his number two agent, the Old Man decided Miss Smith had to go as things with Kuryakin might only become worse. Given her ability to break security protocols notwithstanding, that was the final straw.

It was best she be deprogrammed and let go from the organization.

As Tommy Lopaka, the head of Section V Security, along with two members of his team escorted Miss Smith to be deprogrammed, she called out to Illya who was following at a distance.

"What did I do Illya, darling please tell me what to do so I can make it all right between us?"

"Good bye Miss Smith, things will be fine for you I guarantee it," he called to her.

"Illya please help me? How can you let them do this to me...we're meant to be together, just you and me!" The doors to Security closed behind her, muffling whatever else she said.

Kuryakin shook his head, though he disliked psychiatrists he wondered if an exam of prospective employees might be a preventative measure from something like this occurring again.

It would be in the Command's interest if they discovered any underlying obsessions and compulsions, or any sort of mental problems for that matter.

Illya gave a long sigh as he headed back to his office, realizing Napoleon was going to have a field day with this.

Knowing him, he would have advised his partner to go out with Miss Smith, maybe even take her to bed. but then let her down gently.

"Yeah, right," Kuryakin mumbled to himself.

Six months later Napoleon and Illya found themselves in Oregon on a brief assignment. They were tracking a known THRUSH courier, and though they thought he was unaware of them tailing him, he seemed to be leading them on. Finally, they lost him and Mr. Waverly wasn't going to be happy.

"Dash it all Mister Solo, you and Kuryakin are my best agents, and you let a mere courier give you the slip?"

The Old Man let out a long sigh.

There was nothing Napoleon could say.

"Very well then, get yourselves a place to stay tonight and tomorrow find yourselves a pilot who can take you to Eugene. Get to Los Angeles and from there you will return to New York. No dawdling. We will discuss your failure in detail when you return. Waverly out."

"Oh boy, are we in for it now,"Solo grumbled.

Illya said nothing...what was there to say?

They finally ended up in an odd place, mostly for tourists and at the moment it was off season.

"Before white settlers arrived in the region to the place that is now Joseph, which is a small town nestled at the base of the Wallowa Mountains; it was once was at the heart of the ancestral homeland of the or Nez Perce Indians.

Wallowa Lake, and the surrounding region were deeded to the Nez Perce as a reservation in an 1855 treaty, but the discovery of gold in 1863 led the United States government to attempt to renegotiate," it was Napoleon's turn to read from a local travel brochure while his partner was doing the driving.

He was reading simply to amuse himself, none of what he read he found fascinating, unlike his partner.

"The natives refused to sign the new treaty, which would have excluded them from their ancestral homeland. Mounting pressures from resettlers and the U.S. government eventually boiled over into the Nez Perce War, which concluded with the younger Chief Joseph otherwise known as _Heinmot Tooyalakekt_ , being captured as he attempted to seek asylum in Canada in 1877. After Joseph's surrender, the region around Wallowa Lake was officially opened to resettlement."

"The town of Joseph was named in honor of Tuekakas, also known as Old Joseph, who had a reputation of being friendly to whites."

Right now it didn't seem friendly to anyone and was rather empty. Apparently the residents living in Joseph year round were scattered, mostly tending to their farms or working in the timber industry.

The part of Joseph however, that was geared towards tourists was like a ghost town.

A fellow named Bob Berkley maintained a small store, that was part grocery and part hardware in what it sold. The shelves were poorly stocked as there was little business unless someone, like the UNCLE agents, were just passing through.

Bob sent them to the only hotel that was open this time of year at the edge of town going up a bit into the mountains.

As they entered the small lobby of the rustic, log cabin style establishment, both men came to a sudden halt.

Standing at the desk was none other than Harriet Smith.

"Well hello there gentlemen, looking for a room? We have plenty of them," she looked at both of them but seemed to be focused on Kuryakin.

"You look awfully familiar, have we met?"

Illya quickly whispered into his partner's ear, covering his mouth with his hand as he spoke.

"Pretend I do not speak English. Say I only speak... Italian."

"I doubt that Miss, my friend here just arrived from northern Italy. This is first visit and he doesn't understand a word of English and he's a bit shy."

" _Cosa ha detto?_ " Illya asked. Pretending not to know what she'd asked.

" _Ha detto che sembri familiare,_ " Napoleon answered.

Illya shrugged his reply.

Harriet stood by patiently, but somehow she understood what they were saying. Funny, she didn't speak Italian.

Then the words came out of her mouth, astonishing herself.

" _Vuoi delle stanze?"_

"Ummm, yes," Napoleon switched to English. "Two rooms please."

Harriet smiled." Pick any numbers and they're yours." She continued to stare at the Russian.

"And your names please, for the register?"

"Jones, Norris Jones and my friend here is Enrico Belmonte."

"Enrico Belmonte; I just adore that name. Has anyone ever told Mister Belmonte that he has amazing eyes?"

Illya leaned towards Solo, whispering again.

"Can we please leave? I have a bad feeling about this."

"Yes Miss, we'll take rooms 1A and 1B."

"Sorry but we don't have a bellboy since it's off season. Here's your keys, the rooms are just down that hall to your right. Extra towels are in the closets. Sorry to say the kitchen is closed but if you want some coffee or ...tea, I can bring that to you if you like."

"No thank you Miss, we wouldn't want to be any trouble.

" _Andiamo ... Norris. Sono stanco,_ " Illya tugged at his partner's sleeve, trying to rush him.

" _I letti sono comodi, Signor Belmonte_ ," Harriet called out, telling Illya the beds were comfortable.

The agents hurried to Solo's room, having a brief conversation before settling in. It was too late in the day to be hunting down other lodgings and the few bits of food they'd brought with them in the car would have to do. A small loaf of white bread, bologna, cheese slices and mustard packets, as well as a box of powdered doughnuts. That was their feast.

"Illya I'm sure she's fine. Harriet spoke multiple languages before she came to UNCLE, so her understanding Italian wasn't a failure in her deprogramming."

"I hope you are right."

"Tell you what, I'll go get us that coffee and tea so we can have it while we eat. We'll go to bed after that and leave early in the morning."

There was an unexpected knock at the door, and Illya moved immediately to the side with his gun drawn and ready.

"Who is it?" Napoleon called.

"It's Harriet, the desk clerk. I took the liberty of getting you your coffee and tea anyway, and I found a snack for you."

Napoleon opened the door, accepting the tray with a smile. "Thank you Miss, very kind of you."

"Oh you're welcome."

He made it quick, and closed the door but as soon as he eyed what was on the tray, Napoleon had a change of heart.

There were two slices of chocolate cake, and sitting beside the mug of tea was a jar of seedless raspberry jam.

"Illya, we're out of here, now. I don't care if we have to sleep in the car."

"I knew it," Kuryakin hissed. "When we get back to headquarters I will have a talk with George about this."

"I think we should tell Mister Waverly before you do that."

They gathered up their supplies and suitcases, leaving the refreshments brought by Harriet untouched. Crawling out the window, they made their way to the car and drove off into the night...

 


	11. K is for Key Biscayne

 

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12959486/11/The-ABC-Affair-II-Challenge-stories)

 

The Key Biscayne Hotel and Villas hosted many famous celebrities and politicians. Vice President Richard Nixon stayed there and was part of a famous meeting with John Kennedy that occurred when Kennedy defeated Nixon in 1960.

It was here that Solo and Kuryakin had embedded themselves among the rich and well todo socialites.

Napoleon dressed rather sporty in white pants and polo shirt with his ever present ascot. Completing the ensemble was a navy blue blazer and a pair of white buck shoes.

He had a cigarette in a long gold plated holder, making his chin jut out just a little as he held it between his teeth.

A waiter approached him, bending low as he set a tall cool glass of ice tea from his silver tray to the table in front of the agent.

"Stop that Napoleon, you look like you are doing an impersonation of Franklin Roosevelt."

"Thank you my good man," Solo responded, picking up his drink with a dismissive wave.

"She is due to come downstairs in a few minutes. They called for her car to be out front of the hotel."

"And you know this how…?"

"I overheard the desk clerk."

Illya, wearing black trousers and a short red jacket tucked the tray beneath his arm and headed off to the seclusion of a group of potted palm trees at the far end of the hotel lobby.

There he did a quick change, trading off his red jacket for a black one, no need to change his white shirt or tie. For the final touch he donned a chauffeur's cap.

He reappeared in minutes wearing his new disguise, aided by a pair of oversized aviator sunglasses; no one seemed to notice him at all.

It seemed the clientele here were too busy being wrapped up in their narcissism to notice the Russian at all.

Napoleon rose from his chair, sauntering over to the hotel doors, where Illya joined him.

A woman with glistening grey hair exited the elevator, dressed in a light floral dress, she looked fashionably for a woman of her age and obviously wealthy status.

Solo walked up to her, greeting her like a long lost relative.

"Poopsie, how are you? It's been ages since I've seen you. You haven't been to Martha's Vineyard in such a long time."

He took her offered hand and kissed it, and a piece of paper was passed to him.

"Everything all right Mrs. Waverly?" He whispered.

"Fine. Mrs. Fauntleroy is tied up in her bedroom. I also found a few other goodies but they're too large to hand off here. I'll give them to Illya."

That was Kuryakin's cue to head outside, locating the silver Rolls Royce that was awaiting its passenger, supposedly Mrs. Fauntleroy.

He tapped on the driver's side window and when the chauffeur opened it, Illya promptly hit him hard enough to knock him out cold.

Opening the door, he shoved the man the over in the front passenger seat and waited outside the vehicle for Mrs. Waverly to arrive. She appeared moments later, and after helping her into the back seat, he came round and got in behind the wheel..

"No problems I presume."

"Illya I haven't been this excited in a long time. I feel positively giddy. Remember we mustn't tell Alexander I helped with you and Napoleon with your assignment dear."

"My lips are sealed. And now we are off to the airport, yes?"

"Absolutely. Wouldn't want to worry my husband by missing my flight home."

"No Madam, that would not do at all. I believe there should be a mini bar in the back if you would care to help yourself to a drink."

"Oh my, I suppose I could do with a glass of gin to calm me down," she laughed.

Illya smiled as he slowly pulled the Rolls away from the hotel, once out of view he stopped and shoved the chauffeur out the door before proceeding to the airport.

Napoleon left the hotel after Mrs. Waverly and Illya had taken off. A valet brought up a red Corvette convertible and after tipping the man, Solo drove off; his destination, the city of Miami.

There an UNCLE courier was waiting to receive the list of THRUSH codes that Mrs. Waverly had stolen from a Victoria Fauntleroy, the wife of member of the Council.

Estelle Waverly befriended the woman while staying at the Key Biscayne Hotel as part of the agent's last ditch effort to get the code before it was too late. After finally gaining her trust and access to Mrs. Fauntleroy's hotel suite, Estelle drugged her and searched room for the codes.

It was a task Solo and Kuryakin found difficult to pull off, given the security surrounding the woman.

The fact that she and Mrs. Waverly bore a striking resemblance to each other, so much so that they could have been sisters was the in the agents were looking for. It was Napoleon who came up with the scheme, much to the delight of Mrs. Waverly who was a more than willing accomplice.

She'd been there at the hotel merely as a weekend guest, and was traveling incognito, without benefit of body guards; something that Solo and Kuryakin found rather surprising.

Then again when it came to Mrs. Waverly, everything was a surprise. She was after all clever, intelligent and a force to be reckoned with.

Mrs. Fauntleroy's husband was supposed to be arriving in the evening, supposedly to pick up the codes.

The wife invited her new friend to lunch and to stay for supper to meet the husband.

Mrs. Waverly was pretty sure he would be in for a big surprise when he found his wife trussed up like a rib roast.

Not only did Estelle find the codes and copy them down, she also discovered the arrangements for the next THRUSH Council Summit, which she photographed with a miniature camera.

Just to make it look good, she stole Mrs. Fauntleroy's diamond jewelry collection. That way the husband wouldn't suspect his information had been compromised.

Illya was quite impressed at her foresightedness, though it only added more risk on Mrs. Waverly's part.

"Shame I can't keep any of it," she said. "Alexander would notice as these are quite stunning." She likened them to some of the jewels owned by Queen Elizabeth.

"Perhaps Napoleon and I could help you out there?"

"You could...what's the saying? _Fence_ it for me dear." She held up an impressive diamond necklace.

Illya smiled, looking at it in the rear view mirror.

"I think that could be arranged. We have a few connections in the diamond district back in New York city." *****

"Good, that's settled then. I'd like to donate the funds to a worthy cause. An anonymous contribution of course, through the UNCLE charity organization?"

"An excellent idea Mrs. Waverly," Illya suddenly hit the horn as a car cut him off."

"Oh goodness gracious," she gasped.

"Nothing to worry about," he reassured her," just a reckless driver.

He said nothing more, but that reckless driver was a little old white haired lady in a Cadillac who could barely see over the dashboard…

.

* ref to "The Eye of Horus Affair"

 


	12. L is for Lisbon

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12959486/12/The-ABC-Affair-II-Challenge-stories)

There was a distinct advantage to having a partner who was an amazing linguist, it also didn't hurt that Illya had an eidetic memory either.

Both talents came in handy in the out of the way places they were traversing in Lisbon.

Portuguese was the language spoken there, with Spanish being the second; Portuguese he hadn't a clue, Spanish he knew a few words but mainly basic pleasantries; his strengths were with Italian, German, and French, though Illya sometimes seemed to think otherwise.

English however was beginning to make itself known in Portugal but not enough to help Solo right now.

At the moment the agents were searching for a woman, a THRUSH operative named _Nathália da Cunha._ She was known to frequent the Alfama district, it being known for its style of music called Fado. The woman fancied herself a singer in that style.

Fado was a traditional form of music known for its soulful and often melancholy tone, and it often had a connection to the sea. Instruments like guitars and mandolins formed the basis of the art, with one singer performing the poetic lyrics. Fado had been in Lisbon since the early 19th century in the port districts such as Alfama.

The quiet cobblestone walkways were deceiving by day, but at night time they came alive with music and song spilling out from the bars and restaurants and into the streets.

Solo and Kuryakin were trolling these places looking for her. She had in her possession a list vital to the security of agents operating in the European arena and they needed to get it back.

For some reason she hadn't given it to THRUSH as of yet, and Waverly wondered if the woman was going to try and sell it on the black market. That made it all the more important to retrieve it before it got into worse hands than THRUSH; there were plenty of them out there just waiting to take down the U.N.C.L.E. as well as INTERPOL and MI6 just to name a few who would be affected.

At last they found her in an out of the way bistro, crooning her heart away while a brilliant guitarist accompanied her singing. His instrument was in the Portuguese style that differed from the Spanish guitar with which most people were familiar; it was a plucked string instrument with twelve steel strings, strung in six courses of two strings each. The body of the instrument resembled a large mandolin, the sound emanating from it was a bright and resonant sound,

Napoleon and Illya sat at a table towards the back, ordering the drink of choice in Lisbon called Ginjinha or simply Ginja; it was a Portuguese liqueur made by infusing _ginja_ berries in alcohol and adding sugar together with other ingredients. It had a cherry flavor to it and was served in shot form with a piece of the fruit in the bottom of the cup which was sometimes made of chocolate.

Napoleon spoke after he took a sip. "Sort of a bitter and not bad."

"Your drink or her singing," Illya responded.

"Both."

"You think she is good?"

"What, don't you like about her singing?" Napoleon seemed surprised.

"She is all right, but I have heard better. There is not enough feeling...it is as if she is not connecting with the words. There is something else that is off, though I can not quite put my finger on it," He paused for a second..."ah, there it is."

"What? The list?"

"No, a particular note she has been hitting or I should say not hitting. There... it should be a minor not a major."

"Musical snob."

"Sorry, I cannot help it if I have perfect pitch. She just finished."

They watched woman slip through a pair of heavy burgundy curtains off to the side of the small stage.

"Good, time to follow her," Solo took off towards the curtained doorway, with Illya following right behind him as he stepped through.

Kuryakin ran right into his partner as Napoleon had stopped dead in his tracks; the way was being blocked by a burly looking man who towered over Solo by a good three inches.

"Excuse me sir, I'm looking for Miss da Cunha, the name's Max Schmidt, Acme Talent Agency, New York," the American went right into his _schtick._

Illya quickly translated, but not everything his partner said as he had a feeling it would be pointless with this goon.

" _Perdoe-me senhor. Estamos procurando a Senhorita da Cunha?"_

" _Não,"_ the big fellow who was apparently the bouncer answered in the negative.

"I take it that was a no," Napoleon said.

"Correct.

" _A senhorita da Cunha saiu para a noite,"_ the big man then said.

Kuryakin nodded his head, backing out through the curtains, pulling Napoleon with him by his jacket sleeve.

" _Obrigado senhor. Obrigado."_ Illya thanked him, bowing slightly with a half smile.

Once on the other side of the curtains he clued in Napoleon.

"He said she is gone for the night."

"Do we believe him?"

"Your guess is as good as mine my friend."

Intending to go around to the back of the bistro to sneak through a back door, they exited the main entrance just in time to see the woman boarding the number 28 tram.

The Remodelado trams dated from the 1930s and in any other city they would have been housed in a museum, but in Lisbon they were an integral part of the public transport network. They were still in use as the 28 route was completely unsuitable for modern trams due to its numerous tight turns and steep gradients.

There were almost no flat streets in Alfama, making the trams a necessity, otherwise the entire time one spent in the district would be climbing cobbled streets or ascending or descending staircases. It would be difficult for anyone, especially in the intense summer heat.

Napoleon and Illya just managed to catch the tram, running alongside it until they grabbed hold and pulled themselves on board at the rear.

It was jam-packed and both men already knew that pickpockets were prevalent on the busy trams when they were this crowded.

The saw da Cunha who had worked her way to the front, but there were now too many people between her and the agents to reach her. They'd just have to hang on until she got off and they'd catch up to her then.

That's when Illya saw it, a little boy of about twelve reaching into her purse; he drew out her wallet as well as a manila envelope marked confidential. It had to be the list!

"Napoleon that boy just lifted her wallet and the list from her purse."

They watched as he wormed his way around the other passengers and hopped off the tram to the street while it was still moving.

"Illya you go after him, I'll stay with her."

Kuryakin hit the ground running and though it took a bit of effort, he caught up with the boy, cornered him and wrestled him to the ground.

" _You have something that is not yours,_ " Illya spoke in Portuguese as he tried to catch his breath.

" _No I don't!"_ The boy squirmed, trying to free himself.

He was dirty and skinny, no doubt a street orphan. Illya could empathize as he'd been a street orphan himself, _bespriorzi_ they were called in Russian.

Illya reached inside the boy's shirt and pulled out the envelope; he quickly opened it and sighed with relief as it was indeed the list. He also pulled out da Cunha's wallet, and drawing from it a sizable amount of cash, he handed it back it to the boy as he released him.

He smiled, sticking out his chin with pride. " _Obrigado senhor. You want me to steal anything else for you? I am the best there is."_

" _Qual é o seu nome?"_ Illya asked his name.

" _Caetano senhor."_

Illya stuck his finger in the boy's face." _Caetano_ , _no more stealing, understand? It is not safe for you to do."_

" _Yes senhor,"_ the boy called, running off with his cash in hand.

No doubt he was lying, and would continue to steal. When Illya was Caetano's age, he stole as well. It was a matter of survival, even when he was living in the orphanage in Moskva.

Illya ducked out of sight and assembled his communicator.

"Open Channel F."

"I'm here tovarisch. She got off the tram and I'm following her now, though I have no idea where I am."

"No need Napoleon, I have the list and it is the original."

"Good. Burn it."

"Burn it?"

"Mister Waverly's orders."

"Very on the tram and take it back to where I got off, it was not far from the Largo da Graça. Kuryakin Out."

"But…" it was too late, Illya had cut him off. Not knowing the language was going to be a bit problematic.

Napoleon had no qualms about abandoning Nathália da Cunha. Once THRUSH found out what she'd done, and Napoleon would be certain that happened; she was as good as dead.

Shame though, she really wasn't that bad a singer, and was she good looking too.

Napoleon got on the tram again, this time positioning himself by the driver.

"Largo da Graça?" He asked with a shrug.

"Largo da Graça, sim. Três paragens," the man assumed he spoke Portuguese. When he realized Napoleon didn't he held up his hand, reassuringly.

"Não se preocupe. Eu vou te dizer senhor."

Several stops later he gestured to Solo to get off, and Napoleon said the one word he'd learned from Illya...and that was thank you.

"Obrigado."

As soon as Kuryakin tucked his communicator in his breast pocket, he fished a box of wooden matches from his pants pocket. Striking one match, he lit the corner of the list and watched as it burned. He discarded it on the cobblestones until nothing was left of it but blackened ash. After that, he returned to where he told his partner he would meet him.

Fifteen minutes later Napoleon appeared; exiting the tram, he wandered down the street; he made a stop to duck out of sight to contact Mister Waverly.

Spying Illya, he was relieved he'd found the right place.

"We got lucky on this one. I called it into Mister Waverly and he said job well done. We now have the next three days to spend here in Lisbon."

Illya gave one of his half-smiles. "I know of a nice peaceful plaza in front of the Graça Church. It has a wonderful view of the castle and central Lisbon even at night. It has an open air cafe there as well. We can relax and I will teach you some more Portuguese, enough that you can navigate on your own if you wish."

"Sounds like a plan to me...lead on McDuff," Napoleon grinned. There were a lot of pretty women here in Lisbon, and he'd only need a few words.

After all the language of love was universal.

 


	13. M is for Marseille

 

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12959486/13/The-ABC-Affair-II-Challenge-stories)

 

"Don't you just love it tovarisch?" Napoleon sipped a glass of white wine with relish, it was a local vintage and delightful. He eyed a couple of beautiful women who'd just sauntered past the table he occupied with his partner.

"Are you speaking of the wine or the women?" Illya laughed.

"Why not both?"

The agents were having a light lunch at one of the local cafés, just bouillabaisse, French bread, cheese and wine. They'd finished up their assignment and had time to kill before their flight back to New York in the morning.

"I told you the wines of Marseille were exceptional,"

Kuryakin sipped his glass of rosé. "Tonight you can sample the _Mourvèdre_ ; it compliments meat dishes like lamb very nicely."

"Illya is there anything you don't know?" Napoleon asked. He couldn't help but chuckle.

The Russian shook his blond head," Plenty, but you forget I earned my Master's degree from the Sorbonne so I am a bit more familiar with France."

"That was Paris though. Weren't you an active GRU agent at the time?"

"Do you think I was confined there like a prisoner? I did some travelling, some while on assignment, some while not."

"Ahhh Paris. Living there must have been something," Napoleon smiled.

"I went to plenty of museums, did things that cost me little to no money."

Illya, I'm talking about the women!"

Kuryakin wasn't surprised by that answer, as it was so Napoleon. "Yes there were a few ladies but I was there to work and not get involved with anyone. I was but a poor student, barely surviving on my stipend I received from my superiors. GRU liked to keep its agents hungry. My new handler, when she took over, saw to it that I was better fed in order to survived my assignment in France, though I barely did."

" _She?"_ The tone in Napoleon's voice was obvious; he wanted details.

"That is none of your business my friend." Illya wasn't about to reveal that he and his handler Katiya Revchenkov had eventually become lovers. She was older and experienced in many ways, while he was but eighteen and very green behind the gills.*

"So why were you transferred to England?"

"A misstep on my part at the ummm, East German ambassador's residence."*

"Oh really?"

"I was set up by my handler, but to this day I do not know why. Then again had it not been for that incident, then I suspect I would not have been offered up to the U.N.C.L.E. as Soviet Representative." *

"You never told me about that either."

"I was apparently considered very expendable by my superiors, worthless really. My mistake in Paris humiliated my sponsor to GRU, he lost face, left and joined KGB. I lost favor with GRU as well as my sponsor was not well liked, then of course lacking a sponsor was last drop that filled the cup."

"You mean the straw that broke the camel's back?"

My saying is Russian version. Now are you going to let me finish?"

"Please continue," Napoleon was all ears as it wasn't that often that Illya would speak of his past."

"After the incident, and my sponsor leaving, it for that reason I was looked upon as a sacrificial lamb to the Command, and was offered up as such to Mr. Waverly. Though he said to me when the offer was made that I should prove my Soviet superiors wrong. Which I think I have." Illya flashed a brief smile.

"He recruited you in person?"

"He came to Moskva and spoke with me. Still I had no real choice in the matter as if I refused to go I most likely would have most likely been shot. I had no idea what an honor it was to work for UNCLE until I transferred to headquarters in London, and more lucrative. The pay is far better than what I was give by GRU."

"The Old Man doesn't do that too often. He recruited me too. I was home after the Korean War; my father ordered me to stay in the army and be a career man like him, but I wanted nothing more to do with it. I went back to college, finished my degree but I was feeling a little lost when the Mr. Waverly approached me with his offer of employment."

Illya raised his glass. "Here is to Alexander Waverly then, for having the foresight to hire us both."

"And to make us partners too," Napoleon raised his glass.

"Smart man," Illya smiled.

"Why thank you gentlemen,"Alexander Waverly was suddenly there, standing behind them."

"Sir," Napoleon said as he stood."We weren't aware you were coming here."

"It is not my habit to broadcast my travel plans Mister Solo. The element of surprise is always an advantage, you know that."

"Would your care to join us sir," Illya asked.

"Why thank you; I do enjoy the local vintages here. Have you tried the _Mourvèdre?_ Simply marvelous."

"Mister Kuryakin was extolling its virtues we were planning to try it at dinner tonight," Napoleon said.

"Oh well I wouldn't want to intrude; I actually have plans to meet Mrs. Waverly. It is our anniversary and we decided Marseille was the perfect place for a second honeymoon. Well come to think of it after the war...first World War we never really had a honeymoon. Just a brief stay in Aberystwyth."

"You are without security sir?"Kuryakin asked.

"Oh no, "he chuckled "I have agents right here with me." The Old Man winked.

"You mean us don't you?" Solo was hesitant to ask.

"Very astute of you, "Waverly nodded."The Old Man put his order in for the _Mourvèdre."_

"Two more monsieur,"Illya called to the waiter. So much for having it with dinner tonight as they'd be busy guarding the Waverlys.

 


	14. N is for New Orleans

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12959486/14/The-ABC-Affair-II-Challenge-stories)

 

"I think this is the quietest I've ever seen New Orleans," Napoleon remarked. He and Illya were walking along the sidewalk in the French Quarter, and though there were strains of jazz echoing out into the street, it was indeed oddly quiet.

There seemed to be few takers as most of the bars were fairly empty.

"Perhaps the calm before the storm?" Kuryakin pointed to a darkening sky. "Looks like it might be a bad one."

"Then we better hurry up before it starts to rain," Napoleon said. When it came to predictions he always trusted Kuryakin's uncanny ability to judge the weather.

Illya once said it was his grandmother who taught him to read the signs in nature.

"Smart woman, like her grandson,"Napoleon thought to himself.

For once they didn't have a dead drop or a courier run that put them in one of the many necropolises located throughout the city. They'd had their fill of those along with their run ins with voodoo magic, spirits and zombies.

They were picking up a pouch in a local hotel, one of the oldest in the French Quarter, the Hotel Monteleone.

First opened in 1886, it was still one of the few remaining family-owned and operated hotels in the city that had survived the great Depression; it was built in the Beaux-Arts architectural style.

It also had one of the richest histories of all the hotels in the area as. Tennessee Williams, William Faulkner and Ernest Hemingway had all been former guests, the latter of whom had often been spotted at the Monteleone Carousel Bar that revolved every fifteen minutes which slow-spun its drinkers past a bank of windows facing Royal Street.

As with many New Orleans hotels, the Monteleone apparently played host to several resident ghosts as well, but it was daytime and the agents knew ghost made their appearance at night, for the most part.

It was located only blocks from the St. Louis Cemetery No.1 where Napoleon and Illya had a rather bizarre experience at the tomb of the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans, Marie Laveau several years prior. *

Napoleon had been stricken by the effects of a so-called voodoo doll and they sought out the services of one Mama Luc to free him of it. After what happened there in the cemetery would have made anyone's hair stand on end, though in the end the ever pragmatic Kuryakin still remained skeptical. *

The storm finally arrived, sending heavy drops of rain to plip-plop around them just as they made it to the hotel entrance; once inside the skies opened up. The winds blew wildly and thunder boomed, rolling off into the distance.

They entered the lobby and were immediately struck by the opulence. Neither man had ever stepped foot in this particular locale before; it was too expensive to book rooms here, especially by UNCLE standards.

The floors were of polished marble and the ceilings were at least twelve feet high, with intricate moldings, and recessed panels that were ornately painted. White fluted ionic columns trimmed in gold led one's eyes to several immense crystal chandeliers that hung from the ceiling near the front desk, which was long that it spanned the width of the room.

Inviting looking brown leather chairs and sofas, some with crushed red velvet, were set about the lobby and looked to be somewhat antebellum in style, recalling a bygone era.

Just before they neared the desk, they spotted their meeting place; it was a dark oversized antique grandfather clock. As they eyed it the chimes came to life on the half hour.

They were a little early, and seated themselves nearby to wait for their contact who was due on the hour.

As Napoleon looked over he saw an older grey haired man who hadn't been there seconds before; he was dressed in clothing that looked more apropos to the turn of the century and was working on the grand antique.

Solo thought nothing of it and looked back at his partner who was reading a discarded newspaper.

When Napoleon glanced back at the clock, the man was gone and was nowhere to be seen. How could he have moved that fast?

Illya looked up from his paper," Something wrong?"

Napoleon opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind and merely shook his head.

He looked up and the old man was back again, tinkering away at the clock. It struck on the hour and he as gone just like that.

Solo couldn't believe what he just saw and quickly rubbed his eyes, blinking them a few times to clear his vision.

"That is our cue," Illya said. He rose from the armchair, leaving the paper there. Napoleon rose as well.

The contact arrived as soon as they stood, and after approaching him the hand off was made; no need for passwords as the they knew him and he knew them.

Napoleon tucked the pouch into his inside jacket but he paused, deciding to ask a question.

"Mike, did you see an old man standing here working on the clock when you arrived? He was here and then he wasn't. I feel l as though I was seeing things; maybe I need a vacation."

"Napoleon," Illya chided, "you just had a vacation in Fort Myers."

The courier chuckled. "No Napoleon, you're fine. You saw the ghost of the clockmaker. He's seen working on his clock whether it's day or night. As a matter of fact there's quite a few ghosts here; those people who enjoyed owning the hotel, or working here or staying here as guests. They've chosen to spend their after-life at the Monteleone, and are more than willing to cheerfully share this grand place with the living. I love it here and worked here as a busboy when I was a kid. He looked towards the front entrance." Shame the weather is so bad...streets are flooding. You may want to wait here,"

The weather had intensified and Napoleon made the decision to head to the Carousel bar for drinks. There was no rush with the pouch. He turned to ask Agent Fontenot to join them, but the man had already left.

"Tovarisch, let's get a drink. I think I sort of need one."

Illya nodded saying nothing, but he took note that his partner seemed oddly pale. There was little that could shake Napoleon Solo, but this supposed encounter with yet another ghost apparently did, or was it something else?

Before settling in at the bar they sequestered themselves behind a group of large potted palms for cover.

Napoleon pulled his communicator, quickly assembling it. "Open Channel D."

"Yes Mister Solo," Waverly answered.

"Sir we've picked up the courier pouch from Agent Fontenot, but we might be a little delayed getting out of the city as New Orleans is being hit by a bad storm."

"What the devil? That's impossible, "the Old Man blurted.

"The weather is really bad sir, I'm not exaggerating. I was told some of the streets are flooding."

"Dash it all man, it's not the weather, it's Agent Fontenot. He was killed in a car accident not forty minutes ago. So whoever gave you that pouch could not have been him."

Solo didn't know what to say, but he reached into his jacket, finding nothing where the small pouch should have been."

"Are you there Mister Solo?"

"Yes sir. I'm at a loss. Illya and I saw Fontenot and spoke to him, but the pouch he gave me has now mysteriously vanished."

"The courier pouch was recovered at the scene of the accident and was dispatched by another agent out of our New Orleans field office; he's returning it here to New York."

"But…"

"Mister Solo, I am beginning to think your three weeks in Florida might not have been enough."

"Sir, I feel fine. Mister Kuryakin will verify that we both saw Agent Fontenot."

"Tsk," Waverly was beginning to sound annoyed. "You and Mister Kuryakin are to return to New York immediately, weather permitting. Out."

"Let's get that drink Illya, I think I need it even more. You saw Mike Fontenot didn't you?"

Kuryakin screwed up his face. "Yes I did, and now I think I need a drink too."

"What is it about this town?" Solo asked.

"I do not have a clue."

As they approached the Carousel Bar it began its regular rotation.

"Napoleon, do you mind if we do not sit there? I have a feeling it will make me ill."

"You're kidding right? Like in seasick ill?"

"You forget seasickness is motion sickness, slow moving things like that contraption could cause it,"he pointed at the bar.

"I would rather be able to enjoy my drink and keep it down, please. Plus I am still trying to process the incident with Agent Fontenot."

"No problem,"Solo gave him a sideways glance. He too was a bit shaken by it, as he was sure Illya was as well, though the Russian would never admit it…

.

[.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5032111)

[* ref to "That Voodoo that you do so well"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5032111)

 

 


	15. O is for Oughterard

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12959486/15/The-ABC-Affair-II-Challenge-stories)

 

Napoleon and Illya were riding together in their diminutive rental car, navigating the narrow countryside roads.

Solo made an observation about the steering wheel being on the wrong side of the car, but he was immediately corrected by his partner.

"Not the wrong side, the right side," Illya snickered.

"How very punny of you,"Napoleon shot back.

On several occasions they were forced to pull off to one side to let an oncoming lorry pass by because space on the road was so tight; it was that or wait as endless flocks of sheep were being herded along past them.

"By my estimation we should be getting near Aughnanure Castle, I think," Illya said, though he sounded a bit unsure of himself, which was out of character.

"I wonder why Waverly made arrangements for us to meet our contact in such an out of the way place as Oughterard. Surely there are other locations in Ireland that could have been more suitable?"

He was doing the driving, not taking any chances at giving Napoleon a turn behind the wheel; his partner was notorious for getting them lost.

"Why don't you let me drive for a bit?"

"We do not need you leading us astray. It is hard enough trying to find our way given the lack of signs in this country, and the inability of the locals to give coherent directions other than saying, 'See that wee cottage up the road, sure now, that is not where you want to be turning.'

"It seems directions were more about where we should not go than where we should."

Napoleon found Illya's imitating an Irish accent amusing, but he was busy enjoying the scenery and ignored what his partner actually said. There was a phrase associated with the country that he found to be true and that was there were forty shades of green in Ireland.

"Hey I know where we are," Napoleon suddenly spoke up.

"And where is that, because at this point I think even I am lost."

"We're on the Leam road and roughly 8 kilometers outside of Oughterard. The castle should be another seven minutes beyond the town."

"Napoleon, how could you possibly know that?"

"That bridge we just crossed… I remember seeing it in a movie called the 'Quiet Man.' It starred John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara," he said with a rather mischievous smile.

What Napoleon didn't let on to his sometimes know-it-all partner was that he'd secreted a small travel book in his pocket, It mentioned the bridge's claim to fame from the film, and that it was 8 kilometers outside the town as well as the castle being seven minutes farther down the road.

Illya looked at him, wondering if he should trust his partner yet again.

Napoleon saw that suspicious look on his face. "Trust me tovarisch; would I steer you wrong?"

"Yes…"

That deflated Solo's ego for a split second.

"I guarantee I'm right. I studied the map before we left, which _you_ left behind at our bed and breakfast... just saying."

Kuryakin had no choice but to trust him. The man could be brilliant in so many ways but when it came to navigation, it was one of Napoleon's short comings. Still, what harm would it do to go along with him on this one, given Illya felt they were indeed lost already.

As they eventually drove into the small town of Oughterard and straight on to Aughnanure Castle Napoleon was grinning from ear to ear.

"See I told you so tovarisch."

"I have to admit Napoleon, you were quite right. I am impressed."

They exited the small car, stretching their legs before heading up to the castle, and that's when Illya spotted the travel book on the passenger seat of the car. He said nothing; what harm was there in letting Napoleon have his fun?

He still wasn't going to let Napoleon drive...

 


	16. P is for Putten

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12959486/16/The-ABC-Affair-II-Challenge-stories)

 

 

"By the Zee by the Zee by the Zuiderzee ," Napoleon sang a little ditty that was a take on the American song 'By the sea, by the beautiful sea.'

He as doing it merely to annoy his all too serious partner.

Illya ignored him, of course,

"Did you know the Zuiderzee was once a bay, but was tamed after the building of the Afsluitdijk dam? Its creation was a response to the flood of January 1916. Plans for closing the Zuiderzee had been made over thirty years earlier but had not yet passed in parliament. With the completion of the dam in 1932, the Zuiderzee became the IJsselmeer. Because of the dam, large areas of land in this part of the Netherlands were reclaimed for farming and housing. The reclaimed areas known as polders, were respectively the Wieringermeer, the Noordoostpolder, and Flevoland."

"And this has what to do with our assignment in Putten?" Napoleon asked.

"Nothing," Illya shrugged, "It was something I just found interesting.

"I think you'll be proud of me as I did a little research of my own and found out that Putten was the site of one of the largest Nazi raids during the occupation of the Netherlands. It was able to recover after the war, but there is still an emotional scar that remained in the hearts of the residents. The majority of the town's male population was deported, that was 661 human beings guilty of no crime other than defending themselves against the German occupation."

"The Dutch resistance attacked German troops near Putten, and resulted in war crimes on behalf of the occupying Germans. After the attack, part of the town was destroyed, and seven people were shot in the Putten raid. Those deported were subjected to forced labour; 48 out of the 651 deported survived the camps while some escaped the train on the way to their incarceration, with a few being released. I'm also aware the man we're looking for is one of those who made it back alive."

Though Kuryakin was aware of what happened here back in 1944, he had no interest in discussing anything to do with concentration camps or those who survived them. It was a sensitive subject for him as he spent a year in a death camp outside of Kiev when he was just a boy. The memories of it haunted him to this day.

He was one of the lucky ones as he was able to escape with thirteen men when there was a riot in the Sryets camp in Kyiv. Shortly thereafter everyone left in the camp was executed after the Nazis had the remaining inmates destroy the evidence of the atrocities that were committed. As a survivor himself Illya could empathize with the emotional effects the remaining men from Putten had gone through.

Napoleon and Illya were heading to this town to locate Professor George Van den Berg, given he was one of those few survivors after the war, Solo's research was applicable.

THRUSH was showing interest in Van den Berg and his work with chemical compounds; such things they could pervert for their own nefarious purposes. They made enough trouble on their own and didn't need the work of the Professor's to further their schemes.

The agents arrived at a simple white cottage belonging to the man they sought, although verifying it being the correct house with a local brought them suspicious looks.

When they approached it, Napoleon knocked on the door but took a step back so the Professor could see him and Illya before opening up. Intel indicated he was a bit on the nervous side, though not quite paranoid. He was wary of strangers after his experiences with the Nazis so long ago. Apparently so were the other residents of the small town.

Illya could understand those feelings all too well.

_"Ja?"_ The professor opened the door just a tad.

"Professor Van den Berg, my name is Napoleon Solo," he held out his gold ID card. "And this is my associate Illya Kuryakin."

"What do you want? I have heard of this U.N.C.L.E...I have done nothing wrong."

"Our name stands for the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement," Illya spoke up. "We are here sir because an evil organization called T.H.R.U.S.H. is most likely coming to kidnap you. They have heard of your work and want it for their own, to do with as they wish."

"Thrush? That is a bird. Don't be ridiculous!"

Napoleon broke in, T.H.R.U.S.H. is an acronym for The Technological Hierarchy for the Removal of Undesirables and the Subjugation of Humanity. The organization had its beginnings in the late 1800's with various names, the title THRUSH came about around 1919. They may have had ties to the Nazis."

"And they are coming for you Professor," Illya added that bit sotto voce. His tone of voice indicated the seriousness of which they spoke.

The man turned red in the face, rattling off excitedly in Dutch.

_"Nee ik zal niet gaan. Ik werd bij mij thuis weggehaald, maar nooit meer!"_

Napoleon, knowing his partner spoke the language asked for a translation, but he already had a good idea what the Professor had said.

"To paraphrase, he refuses to leave his home again."

Speaking to the man in Dutch Illya asked if he might continue their conversation more privately.

Napoleon remained outside while his partner was invited inside.

"Professor,"Illya said." Might you have some alcohol and a cotton ball?"

"Yes, I will get them." The man disappeared to his bathroom and returned with the items the Russian requested though he was unsure why they were needed.

Illya removed his jacket and rolled up his left sleeve, and he applied the alcohol to his inside forearm. Slowly a faded tattoo, a series of numbers in blue ink, appeared as the makeup that covered it was removed. As soon as the Professor saw it, he knew what it was. He too rolled up his sleeve and showed his own tattoo to Illya.

_"Professor, we are both survivors of Nazi camps, you in Birkenau and me, Sryets in Ukraine. I was an orphan and only nine years when I was captured and taken to the came and force into slave labor. I sorted the belongings of those who went to the gas vans and firing squad.* I swear as a survivor that what we are telling you about THRUSH is true, and you are in terrible danger. The U.N.C.L.E. is offering to protect you and we will relocate you to a safe house, though it is in your best interest to go to another country, perhaps America. My organization only seeks to protect you and your work, we do not want to take it from you."_

_"It is a tragic story you tell but how can I know that you are not lying?"_

_"It is a matter of trust, one survivor to another. We both know first hand what evil men can to innocents."_

_The professor sighed, perhaps this was the truth. His work could not fall into the wrong hands._

_"Very well Mr. Kuryakin, I will trust you. Give me a few minutes to pack up my notes and gather a few things, treasured photographs and such," this time he spoke in English._

_"Yes sir, take whatever you need. As a precaution we will have to burn down the house. The cover story will be that you died in the fire."_

_"Burn my house? You make me lose everything. I lost my family here too, and now I must be deprived of my home...again?"_

"Sir, I too lost my home and my entire family to the Nazis. It is part of the reason why I came to work for U.N.C.L.E. It is their job to prevent evil throughout the world. Sometimes we win, sometimes we lose but it is important to at least try. The resistance fighters in Putten knew that."

The Professor was now convinced. He quickly packed up a brown leather briefcase with his notes. He filled a small trunk with what few family treasures he still owned, as well as his clothing. He was a frugal man so there wasn't much to pack.

He stepped out the door, carrying the briefcase and dragging the trunk behind him; Kuryakin remained inside and set the house ablaze.

Illya came outside and waited as Napoleon put the Professor's belongings in the trunk of their car.

Once the professor was seated in the back seat, Napoleon turned to see the smoke billowing from the house. He knew why Illya had set it on fire, but he didn't know how the Russian convinced Van den Berg to leave with them, considering the man had been adamant about not going.

Before they climbed into their car, Napoleon asked Illya how he got Van den Berg to change his mind.

"Something the Professor and I have in common. That commonality convinced him we were telling the truth about his life and work being in danger."

"Talk about dancing around the subject! So you're not going to tell me how you convinced him?"

"No," Illya half smiled. He climbed into the driver's seat, while Napoleon got in the rear with the professor.

The house was fully engulfed in flames and Napoleon told the man not to look at it. He was concerned that it might trigger bad memories as much of Putten was burned down by the Nazis.

"Never look back, only look forward Professor," Illya called to him. "You must keep moving forward in spite of the past."

These were words Kuryakin tried to live by but it wasn't always easy as his past still haunted him in his dream and would probably never go away. Perhaps it was what haunted him that strengthened him, and gave him his determination.

There was no way of knowing for sure…

.

.

* **ref to my story["Beginnings."](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6767104/1/Beginnings)**

It's the tale of Illya's family and how he was orphaned as a child during WWII; it segues to the future where now as a member of Soviet Intelligence (GRU) he is offered up to UNCLE as the Soviet representative to the Command.

Eventually I plan to post all of Illya's backstories here in order...I'm up to 36 (I think)

Beginnings was the first story I ever wrote for Man from U.N.C.L.E.

 


	17. Q is for Quebec City

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12959486/17/The-ABC-Affair-II-Challenge-stories)

 

"Now let's get something straight, you will cease making any and all comments about my French while we're here in Quebec City. No snickers or snide remarks about my accent, sentence structure and so forth. I will be speaking Québécois while we are here, period," Napoleon gave his partner the stinkeye.

Illya being a talented linguist often derided his partner's accents, but with French in particular. Part of it was just to needle Solo for the constant ribbing he gave the Russian.

Kuryakin had done some research on this Québécois which he discerned was not standardized and was therefore equated with standard French. European pronunciation was not difficult for Canadians to understand; only the differences in vocabulary presented problems. The Quebec French accent was apparently closer to that of Poitou or of Normandy and also some parts of Wallonia in France.

Napoleon had none of those accents, so Illya was at a loss as to where his partner's accent came from. It wasn't truly French nor was it pure Québécois.

After Napoleon read him the riot act regarding his making any comments on his Québécois, Illya decided to play a little joke on the American.

While Solo was parking their car Kuryakin proceeded into the hotel where they were staying for the night. Their assignment was a simple one and that was to escort a new surgeon back to headquarters. Doctor Henri Gagnon would be joining the medical staff in New York City.

Napoleon was thrilled that he'd have someone with whom he could speak Québécois from time to time, and hopefully not while in a stay in the Medical Suite. Illya could relate to that as he was grateful there were a few people in the translation section with whom he could converse in both Ukrainian as well as Russian.

In the meantime Illya couldn't resist pulling his prank. He spoke to the desk clerk, a rather attractive redhead and he paid her a small bribe to play the joke on Solo. She was more than willing and asked if dinner with the Russian could be part of the deal, among other things. She was quite flirtatious and she had that 'come hither' look in her eyes. He figured why not for once.

Illya gladly obliged as he was going to ask her out anyway. It was rare he did such a thing, but he suddenly found himself attracted to redheads more and more. There weren't that many back in New York as far as he recalled...everyone seemed to want to be a blonde. There was April Dancer of course, but it was better not to become involved with her again, and she agreed. She fancied Napoleon, as well as his partner fancied her; they had begun dating with the mutual understanding that they could see other people. That no doubt was a proviso Napoleon most likely made.

After his conversation with Delphine the clerk, all was in readiness and just in time as Napoleon joined them not a moment later

"Is there a problem?" Solo asked in English.

"No, I was just waiting for you."

"Oh well then, merci, and remember no comments about my French."

"Perish the thought, " Illya leaned on the desk, not making eye contact with the girl.

Napoleon introduced himself, telling her he had a reservation for a double for the night."

"Excusez-moi monsieur? 1'm désolé mais votre français est difficile à comprendre " (sorry sir. Your French is difficult to understand.)

"What?" Napoleon blurted out in English. He switched back to Québécois." _How can you not understand me. I am speaking a variation of French spoken here in Quebec?"_

"This time she responded in English. "I am sorry sir I still can not understand you, perhaps it is the accent. I don't know but I do apologize."

Napoleon couldn't help but turn to his partner who was hiding a smile behind his hand.

"Not a word, not one word," Solo pointed his finger right at Illya's face.

"I did not say anything."

"Good, keep it that way." Napoleon continued in English, confirming their reservation. Once that was done he asked Illya about having dinner.

"I already have plans," he winked, nodding his head towards the redhead.

"Oh really?"

Kuryakin knew he'd made a mistake by mentioning his plans.

"Tovarisch, you better make plans for sleeping somewhere else tonight." Napoleon sneered.

"I have already planned on that, thank you very much," he turned to Delphine and winked.

 


	18. R is for Rome

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12959486/18/The-ABC-Affair-II-Challenge-stories)

"Ahhh Roma, it's good to be back," Napoleon sighed.

"Why are you so enamoured of Rome?"Illya asked.

"Other than the beautiful signorias? It's the sense of history here; the majestic Colosseum for one."

"Yes the site where so many innocents were massacred in the name of sport."

"I'm talking about the structure itself. It was amazing the Romans built something like that. Then of course there's Pantheon, the temple of all the gods, was built by Emperor Hadrian. It's the best preserved building of ancient Rome."

"Yes it is amazing and I believe it was converted to a Christian church in the seventh century."

Napoleon nodded his agreement. "The Roman Forum is a huge complex of ruined temples, basilicas, and arches. It was the ceremonial, legal, social, and business center of ancient Rome"

"Ah yes, the food stalls and brothels I believe were removed in the second century BC."

This time Napoleon made a face at his partner.

Illya decided to point out a place of interest, _"Piazza Navona._ Was it not originally built as a stadium in the first century for athletic contests and chariot races? Piazza Navona is also the home to three lavish Baroque fountains. I also recall it is lined with cafes The much-touted ice-cream dessert, _tartufo_ , is said to have originated there and you can still try it in the cafes as a splurge."

"Is that a none too subtle hint that you want to get lunch," Napoleon finally smiled.

The Russian's blue eyes twinkled.

"It amazes me how quickly you grasp these things my friend…"

 


	19. S is for Sandino

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12959486/19/The-ABC-Affair-II-Challenge-stories)

"Gentlemen it has come to my attention that the tropical depression developing in your neck of the woods has now become a very strong hurricane. It has made landfall over Tobago with winds measured at 120 mph as is now moving west-northwestward. Its winds have increased substantially and is south of the border of Haiti and the Dominican Republic," Alexander Waverly spoke rather calmly, considering the weather forecast. He was sure that his agents could no doubt hear the concern in his voice.

"Don't tell me, "Napoleon said."It's headed our way."

"Yes Mister Solo, hurricane Flora is indeed headed your way, and moving rapidly."

"We can commandeer a plane," Napoleon suggested.

"You'd never make it in time, as we speak the weather service is upgrading this storm to a category 4, possibly a category 5. A small plane would be downed if not broken to pieces in mid-air. What is your current location?"

"A small town on the coast called Sandino, it is in the westernmost part of Cuba at an elevation of 30 ft," Illya said.

"That is not safe at all. Gentleman I'm ordering you to seek shelter in higher ground, get as far inland as you can. Find a study building or somesuch. Godspeed gentlemen. Waverly out."

Solo and Kuryakin looked at each other, staring for a second as they were somewhat at a loss as to where to go.

"Let's find out where the locals are heading," Napoleon said.

As they walked out of the small house in which they were staying they heard a siren, and saw people racing off.

Illya called out to a woman who had a small baby in her arms.

" _Señora,¿a dónde vas?"_

" _Para las cuevas, señor."_

" _Cuevas?"_ He repeated.

"Sígueme, señor."

"Sí, muchas gracias."

"Did I hear caves?" Napoleon asked.

"She said she is heading to the caves and we should follow her."

"Then let's go tovarisch."

Everyone from Sandino was racing to higher ground for cover, though it was a bit of a trek. If the locals hadn't led the way the agents would have never found the caves as they were hidden within the heavy tropical vegetation, and not visible to the naked eye, unless you knew where to look.

They were definitely at several hundred feet, and that would protect them from any flooding.

They all crammed into several interlinked caves, with Solo and Kuryakin remaining closer to the opening. Illya was a bit uncomfortable as several bats flew out over his head, and the stench of bat guano was definitely present.

"Will you stop worrying about them,"Napoleon chided.

"Easy for you to say as you were not fed to blood sucking bats by Count Zark. The treatment for rabies was quite painful. So you will pardon me if the memories of it still bother me."

"Okay, okay. No reason to be upset."

"I am not upset." Illya stuck his nose in the air.

Napoleon decided not to needle him anymore; the winds were picking up and the rain had become torrential. He took a peek outside, but it was brief as the rain was blowing horizontal, the palm trees were bending over, many losing their foliage.

As the storm intensified, they had no choice but to move deeper into the cave. The winds were howling now and the smaller children began to shriek.

"Atmospheric pressure is changing rapidly, and they can feel it in their ears," Illya whispered. He swallowed several times as the pressure was getting to him as well.

"This storm must have an extreme barometric pressure, as this only happens when the pressure changes in the cabin of a plane."

The woman who told Illya to follow her was rocking her child, trying to calm it but she was having little success. She looked like she wasn't doing so well herself.

"Would these people still have homes to return to?" He wondered. Illya whispered to the woman in Spanish, offering to take the baby for a bit.

" _Gracias Señor_." She was tired, and shaking with fear.

Illya took the child in his arms, enveloping the little girl as he sang to her in Russian, rocking her all the while.

" _Bayu-bayushki bayu, Kak na nashen na krayu, Da zelenyi sad sadochek, V sadoo alenkii tsvetochek, On na solnishke stoit, A Illyushenka moi spit…"_

He and Solo were the only ones who could understand the lyrics, which could be a bit frightening to a child. He wondered why children's lullabies often included monsters and harmful things.

This particular song warns the child not to sleep on their side by the edge of the bed or a wolf will bite them and take them off into the woods. Not a very cheerful lyric to get a Russian child to close their eyes and go to sleep.

Soon she quieted and was asleep; with that he gave her back to her mother."

" _What is her name?"_ He continued to speak in Spanish.

" _Carmencita."_

" _A beautiful name for a beautiful child."_

Holding the baby was a good distraction for him, making him forget about the bats.

It was impossible to sleep, though both agents and many others tried, but the sounds of the wind and trees snapping and crashing told them how violent this storm was.

When it was finally over, they returned to Sandino, or rather what was left of it.

The small house where the agents had stayed was flattened like a pancake as were most of the other poorly constructed homes that made up much of the town.

Carmencita and her mother were fortunate enough to be found by her father who was a fisherman. The had relocated their boats to a protected inlet and that's where they rode out the storm. It was a miracle they survived.

Before leaving Illya and Napoleon gave the woman all the cash they had, at least it would help to buy food and some supplies. There was little else they could do.

The U.N.C.L.E. agents weren't even supposed to be in Cuba, and if could they would be in big trouble. They had no choice to land their small boat there as the had engine problems. They were traveling from Rio Lagartos to Cancún in Mexico, and they drifted right into the westernmost tip of Cuba.

Waverly was contacted and apprised of their new situation. Cuba suffered severe damage from the storm and there was no possibility of finding an alternate means of transportation.

The Old Man ordered a night extraction by boat, but the agents would have to swim for it.

"The rescue boat will be positioned as closely possible to the shore, so you won't have to swim far. Be careful of the sharks gentlemen. Out."

"Sharks," Napoleon grumbled. "Peachy."

The denizens of the deep were the last thing he wanted to worry about, as he never was a strong swimmer.

Swimming was his achilles heel, just as Illya's fear of dogs was his weakness.

Knowing his partner's phobia of the water, Illya got his hands on some wide pieces of wood they could use as pseudo surfboards.

That made it much easier to get to the boat, and just in time as a patrol boat had come into the area.

Their captain decided it was best to head back to Cancún.

Once there the agents were able to wrangle a change of clothing after which they booked a flight to Miami, from there they'd catch a flight to New York.

They said nothing of the plight of the people of Sandino; the Cuban government would refuse aid from their North American enemies. They had a closed door policy for the most part as to what went on in their country, and kept fanatically kept the outside world at bay.

The base at Guantanamo Bay was still controlled by the American government, much to the dislike of the Cuban government.

The people were resilient, and maybe one day things would change for the better for them and they'd no longer be under the yoke of Castro's dictatorship; free to visit the outside world and the outside world to visit them...

 


	20. T is for Tarpon Springs

 

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12959486/20/The-ABC-Affair-II-Challenge-stories)

 

"Illya I swear you have the nose of a bloodhound when it comes to sniffing out food!" Napoleon shook his head as he looked over at his partner.

"It hardly takes that to detect good cooking," Illya was driving the car and had taken the turn off to a small enclave called Tarpon Springs.

"Just exactly what kind of food are you sniffing out tovarisch?"

"Greek my friend, Greek. _Spanakopita, tiropita, gyros, kreatopita, moussaka, souvlaki_ and dare I forget _baklava,_ " Illya sighed as he listed just a few of the dishes.

"I only recognized _gyros and souvlaki_ ; I've never tasted them, though I've had shish kebab, does that count?" Solo laughed. "Since I don't speak Greek, I'll have to take your word on the others being good."

_"Souvlaki_ and _shish kebab_ are very similar though the latter is of Turkish origin, there are other differences too numerous to discuss at the moment."

"Thank goodness for small favors,"Napoleon mumbled.

"Beg pardon?"

"Nevermind…"

"You can find out the differences right now as there is a restaurant here," Illya pointed to a place heavily decorated with Greek statuary as well as the blue and white colors of the Greek flag. He pulled into the parking lot and brought the car to a stop.

The American turned to answer his partner, but Illya had already gotten out of the car and was heading inside.

"Guess we're eating here," Napoleon said to himself. "Well, I'm a bit hungry too, so what the heck. I'm sure the food will be delicious."

Once he stepped from the car he took a deep breath, but it wasn't pleased at the smell at all. Even though he was a boatman the odor from the nearby docks consisting of fumes from boat fuel, oil, fish and crates of sponges filled the air.

"And he smelled the food over this? I swear the man really is part bloodhound," Napoleon continued talking to himself. The sooner he got inside the restaurant, the happier he'd be...he hoped.

_"Kalós orísate!_ Welcome welcome," a man greeted them first in Greek then in English. Both UNCLE agents froze where they stood as that man was none other than Stavros, Terror of Thessaly. (semi-retired) *

"What are you doing here? Solo blurted out.

"I could ask the same of you but since you asked first...my daughter Kyra and her husband have what you say, franchised a line of authentic Greek restaurants. That Nico has a pretty good head on his shoulders for a weakling."

"And where may I ask are they?"Illya wasn't sure he should have said that.

"Oh they are back in Thessaly. That is where our corporate headquarters is located. We opened first international restaurant here in Florida as it has largest Greek population outside of Greece. Say you two no bring any trouble with you? We just opened and it cost pretty penny."

"Rest assured Stavros, you'll have no trouble from us,"Napoleon smiled innocently.

"Good, let me get a bottle of ouzo and we drink to good times, enh?"

As soon as Stavros turned his back the agents hightailed it out the door and to the car. Illya jumped in the driver's seat, started the engine and took off with a screech of the tires.

They looked in the rearview mirror only to see Stavros the terror of Thessaly standing in the road shaking his fist at them.

"Close call," Napoleon said. "Hey there was a hot dog stand a ways back on the highway.

"Napoleon, I think I have just lost my appetite."

...funny thing, Solo had too.

.

.

* ref to "The It's All Greek To Me Affair" 3/21

 


	21. U is for Uppsala

(the Rune for U)

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12959486/21/The-ABC-Affair-II-Challenge-stories)

 

 

It was the last thing Illya Kuryakin expected to encounter in Sweden; the THRUSH satrapy he and Solo had finally located in Uppsala was run by a man named Ingram Söderberg.

The man was enamored of the old Norse gods, and he built his facility in an out of the way location, modeling it after a very famous temple called Ubsola.

But Illya suspected Söderberg's version of Norse beliefs was most likely perverted to suit his purposes somehow as he was a member of T.H.R.U.S.H after all…

Going by the descriptions in the ancient _Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontificum_ , Adam of Bremen provided a description of the temple, parts of which these Thrushies had copied in the construction of their satrapy.

' _It was adorned with gold with a triple throne for three gods. In the center sat the mightiest and that was Odin seated on either side of him was his son Thor and his wife Frigga._ _A golden chain surrounded the temple and hung from the gables of the building. Beside the temple stood a great tree with its branches spread wide."_

The triple thrones which were physically unoccupied stood outside the front of the building, but what Illya observed was something to even turn the strongest of stomachs.

The satrapy most certainly filled Bremen's description right down to the sacrifices.

Sacrifices in the Norse tradition continued for nine days, and during the course of each day a man was sacrificed along with two animals.

This was the time of the spring equinox, and Kuryakin presumed it was of significance as to why they'd be making all these sacrifices.

There were dozens of animals that had already been killed, a horse, cow, elk, a dog, cat, rooster...the list went on and on.

It included a number of human corpses as well, their bloated bodies hanging with indifference; the stench of it all was nearly overwhelming and Illya covered his nose with his handkerchief.

As far as he could see, Solo wasn't among them

An appointed priest was the one offer up sacrifices to the deities from the people. In this case Ingram Söderberg was the priest and the people were the members of his satrapy.

Söderberg was dressed in clothing that the ancient Scandinavians wore; he was covered with animal skins, a leather jerkin and he walked in leather sandals.

His people wore similar getups, along with robes, capes and some with metal war helmets. Others bore large wooden shields with painted runes and symbols, and they wore swords at their sides.

He found it amazing the kind of lunatics T.H.R.U.S.H. would gather into their midst, then again the Hierarchy consisted of power hungry mad men so this lot probably fit in quite well in their own way.

As Illya continued to watch the carnage taking place in the middle of this so-called sacred grove, until he finally spotted his partner.

Napoleon had been stripped, and was bound to a pole; his head drooped forward and for a split second Illya feared he was dead, but then Solo raised his head, looking at his captors for a brief moment before closing his eyes.

It was only a matter of minutes before Napoleon would have his throat cut; they would drain his blood into a wooden bowl and scatter it with a branch from their sacred tree on the three thrones where presumably the entities of Thor, Odin and Frigga sat, although they invisible to all.

The Russian knew of course, they weren't there.

Illya had to move fast, and he went to the side of the building not visible to the others; there he found a open window and he quickly climbed inside.

No one was there, as it seemed everyone was outside for their rituals.

Looking around, he spotted a blanket embroidered with Nordic symbols. He grabbed that, wrapped it around himself like a cape, covering his own clothing. Mounted on the was was a long barbed spear called a _krókspjót_. Though such spears were made of iron, this one was not, and was obviously a replica as it was shiney, and most likely made of stainless steel with a silver plating.

He removed the long spear, and holding it, it looked quite menacing as it was taller than him.

There were oil lamps in front of a nearby shrine; Illya took his handkerchief and after blowing out one of the lamps he dabbed the cloth into the oil and smeared spearhead with it.

He had several small glass smoke bombs in his pockets, and hoped that would help mask the scene he was about to create in order to save his partner. There was simply too many of them for him to use his gun, so a bit of trickery was needed instead.

He lit the spearhead, letting it burn like a torch and stepping out of the building, he took a deep breath and tossed one of the smoke bombs in front of himself.

Illya walked through the smoke, which had gotten everyone's attention. As he came into view with his cape the flaming spear, the effect of it was quite dramatic, and it made him look otherworldly.

In the loudest voice he could muster, he bellowed in Finnish, then Swedish, and lastly in Russian, commanding them to stop.

" _ **Minä käsken sinua lopettamaan! Jag beordrar dig att sluta!**_ _ **YA prikazyvayu tebe ostanovit'sya!"**_

" _Who are you my lord?"_ Söderberg called out in Swedish.

That told Kuryakin the man was taking the bait.

Illya replied in Swedish. " _ **I am...Loki and my fellow gods are not pleased with this human you have chosen for sacrifice. He is not one of you. I command you release him NOW!"**_

One of the underling Thrushies was so awestruck that he immediately obeyed and cut Solo free.

Napoleon dropped to his knees at first, but when he looked up and realized it was his partner putting on the show, he quickly stood. The man who released him handed him his cape and Solo wrapped it around himself.

_**VY!"**_ Illya shouted in Russian as he knew Napoleon would understand him." _ **Podoydi ko mne, TEPER'!"**_

Napoleon obeyed his partner's order to come to him.

Just for good measure Illya called for another sacrifice.

" _ **Du!"**_ Kuryakin pointed at Söderberg. " _ **Jag väljer dig!"**_

He'd chosen him as the sacrifice to be made.

Illya threw his still burning spear and it landed right at the feet of Söderberg; the Thrushies grabbed the now screaming man and tied him to the pole where Solo had been.

" _ **NOW!**_ Illya called out in Swedish.

He and Napoleon heard the gurgling scream as Kuryakin threw the remaining smoke bomb, and they ran inside the building using the white cloud as cover.

Illya knocked over the remaining oil lamps, setting the place on fire. It went up fast as the agents escaped through the window which Illya had first entered.

Solo wrapped the cloak tightly around himself as he followed his partner to where he'd parked their car off in the woods.

Their valises were still in the trunk; Napoleon took but a few seconds to grab some clothing and dressed himself in the car while Illya took the wheel.

"Söderberg...that was heartless Illya," Napoleon said as he slipped into a shirt. He was well aware of his partner's ruthless side, but this definitely surprised the American.

"Oh I should have let him slit your throat instead?"

"Well no, of course not."

"Napoleon we would have eventually killed him ourselves, so it is immaterial that he died at the hands of his own people as a supposed sacrifice. Their satrapy is destroyed, and their leader is dead. Those birds will flutter off quickly enough, and the Council will most likely kill them because of what happened here."

Illya's attention had been taken away for a split second, and Napoleon yelled as something had just appeared in the road in front of them.

"Look out!"

Kuryakin slammed on the brakes, sending a cloud of dirt into the air around them.

A figure dressed in green leather, and wearing a helmet with large horns stepped towards the car.

His hair was as black as raven, and his eyes piercing, at first they seemed blue but then looked green, either way they were a contrast to the palness of his skin.

In his hand he held a scepter that had a long golden handle and a black fitting which held a blue gem encircled with silver blades. He pointed it at them.

"Those idiots were becoming tiresome. Thor wouldn't do anything about them, and now thanks to you, I can't be blamed. Still I don't think you were as good a Loki as I am."

He disappeared in the blink of an eye, but just as quickly he reappeared.

"By the way the burning spear and smoke bombs were well done."

Blip… he was gone again.

Napoleon and Illya sat for a second, staring at each other.

"I won't say anything if you don't tovarisch."

"Mmm-huh," Illya nodded, still wide-eyed in disbelief.

They'd both seen some pretty strange things over the years but this one just might have taken the cake.

 


	22. Z is for Zephyrhills

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12959486/26/The-ABC-Affair-II-Challenge-stories)

 

"Zephyrhills...it's such a tranquil sounding name isn't it?"Napoleon sighed.

"Yes, the town's name derived from the warm breezes, called zephyrs, which blew across the rolling hills. Though there is some debate as to the true origins of the name. It is said that Howard Jeffries, a retired Union Army captain, established a retirement community for other veterans here. The town's name original name of Abbot Station was formally changed to Zephyrhills when after showing off the land to prospective residents, Capt. Jeffries happened to overhear a conversation about the 'rolling hills' and 'zephyr-like breezes.' Moved by the remark, he coined the new name for the colony company. There are variations to this story; it has been said the town was initially named Jeffries Hills and evolved to Zephyrhills from there."

"Sounds very exciting,"Napoleon said with a bit of sarcasm."The only excitement I'm interested in is my date tonight with Gretchen. So where did you get these tidy little tidbits of knowledge? We weren't near any libraries."

"While we were getting petrol I picked up a number of travel brochures for different areas of the state. You know me and reading material," Illya winked.

"Don't I," Napoleon chuckled.

Illya pulled in the car to the motel where they'd made reservations, but they had to sit there for a few minutes as the sky had opened up in a downpour. They'd become accustomed to these sort of stormy outbursts as they were fairly frequent in the state of Florida.

Once it stopped raining, they saw steam rising up from the blacktop of the parking lot. The rain had made it feel even more humid.

"This is just one of the reasons why I dislike this state,"Illya mumbled.

"Since when don't you like rain tovarisch?"

"It is not the rain, it is the heat and humidity. It is so oppressive. I will take a snowy day in the Balkans anytime...with a beautiful Russian woman with whom I can snuggle, of course, rather than this."

Napoleon smiled, enjoying that last comment; it wasn't often Illya said things like that.

They registered with the desk clerk and brought their valises into their room. Twin beds, and Napoleon moving quickly, claimed the one closest to the bathroom.

He headed there immediately to take a shower, giving himself plenty of time to primp for his date. Napoleon had to admit the Florida heat was even getting to him.

Luckily he'd brought plenty of lighter clothing with him. While stripping and turning on the shower, he thought over what might be best to wear tonight for his date. Something a little more casual, a sports jacket. He'd bring a tie with him and put it on just before he picked up Gretchen...or should he just wear a polo shirt? It's not like they were going to a place the likes of the 21 Club back in New York city.

Illya tossed his valise on his bed, but before unpacking it he went over to the air conditioner and turned it on high.

Standing in front of it for a minute, he sighed as he could feel his body temperature adjust.

That was much better.

Unpacking his suitcase didn't take long. He'd only brought a few polo shirts with him, an extra dress shirt and suit, a bathing suit, shorts, underwear and his white jeans. He'd thrown in his flip flops as well as a pair of sneakers for good measure, not that he'd had a chance to use either of them.

The motel had a pool so he planned to relax and take a swim, but he'd wait until early evening when the sun wasn't so brutal. He'd make sure there weren't any visitors of the alligator kind in it though as in Florida that was known to happen.

Napoleon emerged from the shower with only a towel wrapped around his waist, and howled at how cold the room had become.

"What are you crazy?"

"No, but I feel cooler, thank you."

"Well please turn it down a little. I don't want to walk into a refrigerator tonight."

"Speaking of tonight, you are not to bring Gretchen back here. I will not be put out into the heat while you enjoy your carnal pursuits, understand?" For once Illya was putting his foot down and not being mister nice guy.

"Take it easy, I won't be bringing her back here. If anything romantic happens, and I'm sure it will; we'll go to her place. She has an apartment here in Zephyrhills, that's why we stopped here instead of going straight on to Tampa."

"I have to admit," Illya sighed, "I am looking forward to finally relaxing after being nonstop for more than a month and a half."

"I know the feeling," Napoleon quickly dressed himself. "Let's hope we don't get any calls from the Old Man to jet off somewhere around the world...again."

" _Really?_ " Illya gave him the stink-eye." You were the one who had three weeks off in Fort Myers while I was on the go for those three weeks."

"Yes, I know how hard you've been working, but I've been working with you straight for twenty-five days haven't I? Pretty much non-stop."

"True…"

"Thank you."

Illya headed off to the shower, confident that he didn't have to worry about the hot water being all gone since he planned to take a cold shower. Napoleon would be gone by the time he was done.

The water running down his back felt wonderful, and he turned into the spray and sudsing up the soap, he finished by washing his hair. After patting himself dry with a towel, Illya stepped from the bathroom, completely naked, though he had his gun in his hand. As he had presumed, Solo was gone.

He put on a pair of white cotton boxer shorts and flopped onto his bed while tucking his gun beneath the pillow. All he wanted to do was simply enjoy the cold air.

And that he did as Illya fell sound asleep.

He was woken by the sound of a key being turned in the keyhole. Kuryakin was up like a shot, his gun in hand as he leapt from the bed. It was too early for Napoleon to be back; he actually didn't expect his partner to return until the wee hours, if not then then the next the morning.

The door opened slowly and Solo's head appeared.

"Don't shoot, it's only me."

"Date over already?" Illya sat on the bed, tucking his gun back under the pillow. He looked at his wristwatch, taking note that it was still was quite early.

"Over? It never even started. Gretchen...well, I was stood up."

"You, the great lover Napoleon Solo was stood up? I do not believe it."

"Neither did I but I spoke to her roommate who told me she hooked up with a guy from our Washington office."

"Who was it?"

"I haven't a clue, and the roommate couldn't remember his name."

"So you did not recoup by asking out the roommate?"

"I did but she said she already had a date."

"Wow, you struck out twice? My friend, that is not like you. Are you losing your touch?" Illya tried not to laugh.

"Very funny and here I was going to ask you to have dinner with me."

"I accept," Illya said,"but only if it is an all you can eat barbecue."

"I can handle that," Napoleon chuckled. "Get your skinny Russian ass dressed and let's go then...I'm hungry."

"Napoleon, I think you have been hanging around me too much."

"I have been tovarisch for the last twenty-five days remember? We've had some run between earthquakes, circuses, assassination attempts, an imaginary alien, being in Hiroshima on the 18th anniversary of the atom bomb being dropped,"

"And lest we forget running into Doctor Serizawa and his oxygen destroyer project," Illya added.

"Whatever came of that?" Napoleon asked.

"I followed up on it with headquarters and so far nothing. Hopefully it will not result in a monstrous problem if we missed something. Now do not forget Miss Harriet Smith and her obsession with me."

"We still haven't had a chance to talk to George about the deprogramming being updated," Solo added.

"Well we have not exactly been back to headquarters long enough to do that, have we? Wait, when was the last time we were in New York?"

"I can't remember,"Napoleon scratched his head. "Now where was I… "We had a little help from Mrs. Waverly in Key Biscayne."

"Do not forget Lisbon Napoleon, that kept us quite busy."

"Indeed it did...my feet and legs hurt for days after all that walking."

"Ahhh but the view and the wines were worth it, were they not?"

"Yes that's true. And lest we not forget Marseille," Napoleon sighed. "We even learned a bit more about each other even after all these years working together."

"We did, but do not forget the break that never quite materialized, thanks to the Waverly's second honeymoon," Illya added. "And there there were the ghosts in New Orleans."

"Don't remind me. There was our rather pleasant ride to find Oughterard in Ireland."

"Yes, you thought you were being so clever."

"What do you mean," Napoleon squinted.

"I saw the travel book from which you got the directions."

"You did?"

"Yes, I did."

Napoleon smiled rather sheepishly at having been caught."Then there was the Professor we rescued from Putten, and our time in Quebec City...and by the way I found out about the little joke you arranged with the desk clerk. She had a date with me the next night, it made for interesting pillow talk."

"Oops, something else we shared then," Illya shrugged. "Shall we keep going? There was Rome, as well as the hurricane in Cuba."

"And we found ourselves back here in Florida in Tarpon Spring with Stavros the terror of Thessaly."

Illya rolled his eyes on that one...

"Then we were off to Uppsala in Sweden and well, how would we summarize that one?" He asked.

"A run in with a Norse god?"

They looked at each other and laughed. "Nah!"

"Virginia Beach," Illya practically whispered.

"Don't go there tovarisch."

"Sorry. I would like to forget the lunatic asylum in West Virginia as well."

"Me too."

"Napoleon you were not possessed by the spirit of a tortured child as I was."

"I know, just the memories of the place were pretty horrific."

"Speaking of horrific, what about the Chupacabra in X-Pica?"

"Something else I'd like to forget, " Napoleon said.

"I will not forget the hostage situation just this morning in Yulee." Illya said.

"How could I? Wow when you think about it it's been a hell of a ride these last twenty-five days huh?"

"It has indeed. Just talking about it has made me tired." Kuryakin yawned.

"Tell you what," Napoleon smiled,"let's forget going out to dinner and we'll have some barbecue delivered right here to the room. Then after we've digested it we can go for a swim and even get to sleep early for once."

"Napoleon, I have always said you were a brilliant strategist,"

"Why thanks tovarisch."

"You paying?"

"And if I'm such a great strategist why do I always fall into your traps Mister Kuryakin?"

"I do not know Mister Solo," Illya grinned. "I wonder if Mister Waverly will authorize my vacation request when I get back to New York?"

"Shhh," don't jinx it." Napoleon pulled out his hot pink rabbit's foot just in case. I put in for one too."

"But you already had three weeks off in Fort Myers."

"That was recuperation after being shot, remember?"

"I suppose that does not count then. Where do you plan to go if your vacation is approved?"

"No offense Illya, I mean your my best friend, but right now I'd like to be somewhere, where you aren't."

"Good, I was feeling guilty for thinking the same thing myself."

.

_**"Beep** _ _-beep-_ _**Beep** _ _-beep_ _**-Beep** _ _-beep..."_

 


	23. Y is for Yulee

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12959486/25/The-ABC-Affair-II-Challenge-stories)

 

 

It was time for a pit stop as not only was Illya hungry (which was seemingly always) but Napoleon was as well.

They spotted a diner just outside the small Florida town of Yulee and pulled into the parking lot.

Generally it was a positive sign when trucks were lined up outside of one of these places, as it was an indicator that the food was good. Today though, there wasn't a sign of a big rig or pickup truck anywhere.

At this point it didn't matter; both agents needed to eat as they still had a long way to go to their next destination in the state.

They went inside together and seated themselves at a booth, and looking around as a precaution, which they always did, they took note of how many people were there.

They counted six, the cook and the waitress, two men seated at stools by the counter, and two women seated at another booth. It seemed quiet enough.

At least with so few people they'd probably get fast service, and as far as the quality of the food...how could the cook screw up a basic breakfast like bacon and eggs; coffee on the other hand was something that might be a questionable.

Napoleon noticed that no one was drinking any as there were no mugs in front of them. Illya always drank his tea so that's what Solo would probably have with his food just to be on the safe side.

Solo patted his jacket and realized he'd left his wallet in the car. He was paying for breakfast as he'd made a bet with Illya and he lost; a bet was a bet after all.

"I'll be right back, gotta get my wallet. Just order me bacon and eggs with homefries, raisin rye toast and I'll have tea for a change," Napoleon said as he stood.

He walked out the door to their car and got into the passenger side, feeling around under the seat where he'd tucked his wallet.

While fidgeting around, his communicator chirped; he immediately drew it from his breast pocket and assembled it with a practiced hand.

"Solo here."

"Napoleon... _it's Gretchen,"_ she spoke in a sing-song voice. She was one of the Communications personnel in the Tampa field office.

He immediately smiled." Why hello there, and how are you doing?"

"I'm fine, getting excited about our date tonight."

"Oh I'm looking forward to it as well. You do like barbecue, right?"

"Barbecue? Who in Florida doesn't, but I was hoping we could go to a place where they don't serve barbeque, someplace better maybe?"

"Gretchen, wherever you'd like to go is fine with me," he made that statement knowing there weren't any expensive restaurants in the area.

Their flirtatious conversation continued until Napoleon was distracted by several sheriff's cars pulling up in front of the diner with their lights flashing.

"Gretchen I gotta go. I'll call you. Solo out." He didn't give her time to respond as he disassembled the communicator and stuck it back in his pocket, he did however, retrieve his wallet. He stepped from the car and was immediately told by one of the officers that he'd have to leave the area, that there was a hostage situation going on inside the diner.

He was wearing a tan shirt, brown pants and a dark wide brimmed hat and looked rather formidable with a pair of aviator sunglasses covering his eyes; his shiney badged pinned to his shirt reflected the sunlight.

Napoleon's eyes went wide."Wait a minute officer.. _Wilkins,_ "he looked at the name badge. "My name is Solo, I'm with the U.N.C.L.E. and my partner is inside."

"Mister I don't care whose Uncle you're with, now I'm not going to tell you again. You need to move." The officer looked around. "See that grassy spot by the road, go and stand there and stay there."

The officers were surrounding a man dressed in white his tee shirt and apron grimy; they were talking to him, and Napoleon recognized the man as the cook. Solo listened as best he could while slowly stepping backwards, giving the impression he was doing as he was told.

Apparently the two men at the counter started having an argument and one pulled a gun. It was at that point they took everyone hostage...including Illya. The had cook called the police and escaped out the back door of the diner.

He was sent to the grassy area where Napoleon was ordered to stay, and that's when Solo found out about Kuryakin.

"The blond man I was with, was he all right?"

"Yessir, everyone was okay when I got out. Don't know how long that will last. Them two brothers... Joe Bob, and Jimmy Lee Fratelli are always going at it with each other, but never have either of them pulled a gun on people before. They were pretty worked up about something. I think they were going to rob the local bank."

"Well my friend there inside is a very dangerous man," Napoleon said." He and I work for an organization called the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement."

"Well then why the heck ain't the Sheriff letting you help."

"That's a good question." Napoleon waved one of the officers over and again presented his identification and told them his partner was inside and that he was armed. So they'd have help on the inside from him."

"Oh?" The officer seemed surprised. "That's good to know so's we don't shoot him. The Fratelli brothers are both armed…"

"Yes, so I heard."

The officer was waved over as more police arrived, some dressed in black, and heavily armed.

"This doesn't look good," Solo mumbled.

The man in charge had called the diner phone and spoken to one of the Fratellis; apparently they wanted $10,000 and safe passage out and they'd release all the hostages except one, and that one would come with them as protection.

The negotiations when on for a few hours, and the two female diners were finally released as a sign of good faith. That left the waitress and Illya.

Several minutes went by, and the waitress finally came running out the door looking quite relieved.

Kuryakin stuck his head out the door a moment later, then his hand appeared holding his gold ID card.

"Do not shoot. You can come in now, it is over."

The officers charged in, grabbing Illya, intending to handcuff him and that's when they saw the Fratelli brothers lying unconscious on the diner floor.

Napoleon quickly entered, telling the officers that Illya was his partner.

Kuryakin was released and as the police examined the Fratellis they found no bullet wounds, though the men were alive, they were out cold.

After giving his statement, Illya and Napoleon were permitted to leave if they wanted. The police left with the prisoners and all was quiet again.

The cook called the UNCLE agents back inside and told them they never got to eat and he would make whatever they wanted.

"Food's on the house for you," he told Kuryakin. That Illya found quite amusing, as Napoleon would have to pay.

"So did you sleep dart them?" Napoleon asked.

"Only one, the other was so surprised when his brother collapsed that it gave me the opportunity to karate chop him."

"Then it was a job well done tovarisch,"Napoleon smiled.

"Thank you. Hostage situations are never easy, as you well know. It was simplified when they released the two young ladies, thereby decreasing the number of people who could have been injured. Ideally it would have been better if they freed the waitress, but when I heard the brothers discussing taking her with them as their insurance, I knew I had to act."

The waitress made googly eyes at the Russian as she set a plate down in front of him; there were double portions of everything. She'd found a jar of seedless raspberry jam for his tea as well.

"My grandma was Rooshin and made her tea like that too."

"Thank you very much... _Tiffany."_ Illya flashed a shy smile.

"I gotta say, you were some kind of hero today fighting off them Fratellis."

Napoleon calmly folded his hands in front of himself and waited for his breakfast before clearing his throat. "Ahem."

"Oh sorry mister, I'll be right back with your breakfast. It arrived though the eggs weren't made the way he requested, and he got plain white toast. He decided not to say anything, even though his portions were rather meager even by Napoleon's standards.

When Illya saw his partner's place he mentioned to the waitress that Napoleon was an UNCLE agent as well, but it apparently fell on deaf ears.

"I did tell the police you were an UNCLE agent, so they had an armed man inside who could help them."

"And I am sure they appreciated that," Illya saw the look in Napoleon's eyes and he lifted his plate, giving some of his eggs and home fries to him with a wink…

"What no extra bacon?" Napoleon made _that_ face.

"No, the bacon is mine."

"Greedy…"

"No, hungry. Now eat your breakfast so we can be on our way down to Zephyrhills. I think you might have to tell your date you will be a little late."

"Hey I'm worth waiting for,"Napoleon grinned as he stole a piece of Illya's bacon.

 


	24. X is for X-Pica

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12959486/24/The-ABC-Affair-II-Challenge-stories)

 

Napoleon and Illya were now in the Yucatan, after dispatching the man who'd stolen the North American codes for the U.N.C.L.E. They'd retrieved the stolen information but in the process they lost their transportation.

They had no recourse but to hoof it to the nearest town where they would be met by a helicopter from the field office in Mexico City but that wasn't until the morning.

Kuryakin, not a fan of the heat and humidity was glad they had arrived at the small town of X-Pica.

"Yes I know Illya, civilization at last," Solo made 'that' face of his. "If you could call it civilization?"

It was at least a change from the steamy tropical jungle through which they'd been tramping for the past few days.

However when they saw the place Illya realized it probably wouldn't be much cooler.

There'd be no air conditioning, probably no cool showers, or maybe even ice for that matter. One could only hope the beer was cold as drinking the water wasn't recommended.

The town was barely a blip on the radar, with the structures that made up the main street having once been brightly painted, but now their colors were faded and the stucco chipping away. The place was in a state of slow but picturesque decay.

The road leading into X -Pica was merely dirt and walking down the middle of it stirred up little clouds of dust as the agents moved slowly through the surprisingly vacant town.

"Where are all the people?" Illya asked.

"Siesta time?" Napoleon answered the question with a question.

"Too late in the day, it will nearly be sundown," Kuryakin looked at his wristwatch. "Wait, what day is it?"

Napoleon was quiet for a second. "Hmmm, not Sunday. There's a cantina and the door is open." He pointed to a small establishment with a sign that had seen better days.

They walked inside and found only one man there wiping down the vacant tables.

" _Dos cervezas frías por favor?_ "Illya asked.

"Cold?"The man spoke heavily accented English."Only got warm here gringos. You still want?"

"Yes, por favor,"Illya sucked his teeth with a shrug.

Two bottles of Siglo XX were set on the bar in front of them, and opened with a church key.

He wasn't kidding when he said they were warm as when they caps were removed, the two bottles foamed over with some of the contents running down onto the bartop.

"Better than drinking the water I suppose," Napoleon lifted his bottle, tilting the neck towards his partner."

"That will be four dollars American."

"Four dollars? That's highway robbery."Napoleon looked to his partner to pay but when it was obvious Illya wasn't going to do it, Solo shelled out the money."

"So tell me, where is everybody?" Solo asked.

"Getting late, everybody home. Is no safe."

"Not safe from what?"Illya asked.

"Maybe you should finish your beers; I have to close up now. You have someplace to sleep tonight?"

"Why?"Illya asked, not satisfied his first question hadn't been answered.

Napoleon held out a five dollar bill, but snatched it back as the bartender reached for it.

"Questions answered first."

"People are afraid and me too...is the beast. It has been killing livestock. Now that people lock up their animals, they afraid it will come after them too."

"What exactly is this beast," Illya swallowed the last of his beer.

The man suddenly became very wary, as if he were afraid to even say the name.

"It is called the _Chupacabra."_

"That name means goat sucker," Illya translated.

" _Sí señor,_ it started out killing the goats by sucking the blood out of them, leaving a three hole bite mark in their throats, then came the sheep, the calves and even chickens. I have heard it took a few children already, but I don't know whose they were. Somewhere out in the jungle, someone said."

"What does it look like?" Napoleon asked.

"That is hard to say...some who have seen it say it is like a large hairless dog that walks on its hind legs, others say it has a row of spines from its neck down to its of the tail. It has very large teeth señor."

Solo glanced over to his partner who was trying to hide his smile.

"Well doesn't that sound just peachy."

"So you want a place to sleep tonight señors? I can let you have my back room for one-hundred dollars American."

"I think we'll fend for ourselves,"Napoleon said.

"You want to leave a name and telephone number for someone to come claim your bodies," the barman laughed, but it was a nervous one.

Illya followed as his partner led the way out of the cantina and both men heard the click of a deadbolt behind them.

"Now you decide to be cheap?"Kuryakin demanded."We could have had a bed for the night. Maybe we could have convinced him to lets us have use of a bathtub for that price."

"And you could use a bath I know,"Napoleon eyed Illya's khakis that were soaked in perspiration. Solo who barely broke a sweat had the slightest bit of dampness on his forehead.

"I would have gladly paid the money if I had that much cash, and I know for a fact you don't either. He didn't look like the type who took credit cards."

"I recall passing an empty stable when we came into town, shall we call it a night there my friend?" Illya asked.

"Sounds like a plan Mister Kuryakin."

They headed to the stable, and after checking it out and finding no boogie man or monster, they crawled into a fresh pile of hay after closing the stable doors behind them.

It was in the wee hours that both agents sat bolt upright, their guns in their hands.

"Did you hear that?" Solo whispered.

Illya nodded, his pale face illuminated by the moonlight that was streaming through gaps in the walls of the stable.

The doors opened slowly with a creak, and silhouetted in the moonlight was something definitely not human.

It stood at least seven feet tall, it had tufts of fur sticking out all over its body, and when it turned they could see the outline of spines sticking out the length of its back. As its mouth opened it revealed a forked tongue, the eyes were dark and deep-set; it had long fangs and sharp claws. It hissed and there was a noxious sulfuric stench emanating from it.

It jumped at them with incredible speed, covering at least twenty feet in a single leap. Both agents shot at it with Napoleon aiming high and Illya low. They both hit it and the beast staggered backwards, heading out into the street where they shot it again.

It collapsed to the ground, but neither man wanted to go near it.

"I think it best we check it out once the sun comes up. Perhaps we should have it brought back to the field office in Mexico City for closer examination," Illya suggested.

"Fine with me,"Napoleon whispered.

"Why are you whispering?" The Russian asked.

"Mmm, not sure," Napoleon cleared his throat, speaking a little louder. "Let's get some sleep."

They returned to the stable, this time securing the doors with a bit of rope.

They were woken to the sound of a rooster crowing. After stretching and dusting the hay from their clothing they opened the doors to a beautiful sunrise, only to find the creature was gone.

There was no sign of life on the street yet, and no sign that someone had dragged off the carcass.

"We killed it, of that I am sure," Illya knelt at the spot where it had been; there was still an indentation in the dirt from it, but no footprints there at all. Not even those belonging to the beast.

" **Beep** -beep- **Beep** -beep," Napoleon's communicator sounded.

"Solo here."

" _Buenos días, Señor_ Solo. Agent Montez here. We're about ten minutes away from your location. We can set the helicopter down just north of X-Pica. Does that work for you?"

"Absolutely Agent Montez,"Napoleon grinned.

" _¡Excelente!_ I had a feeling you might be hungry so I brought some burritos as well as sweet potato chorizo hash with eggs and avocado...one of our secretaries made it for you. I also brought coffee made with purified water; don't need you agents agents from north of the border having any gastrointestinal problems."

"Thank you Agent Montez,"Illya said.

They made it to the outskirts of town and there met the chopper. As it was taking off, they dug right into their food and coffee.

"So Agent Montez,"Illya spoke between bites."Have you ever heard of something called a Chupacabra…" *

**.**

**.**

Note: I took a little liberty with a bit of a time shift here. The Chupacabra was first reported in the mid-1990's in Puerto Rico, but has since been reported in many locations; It has a wide territory ranging from Puerto Rico, Mexico and the southern United States to Chile, Russia and the Philippines, although the sightings in those countries are unverified.

 


	25. W is for Weston

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12959486/23/The-ABC-Affair-II-Challenge-stories)

 

Solo and Kuryakin arrived at the the Weston State Hospital in West Virginia, though the place was known by another chilling name and that was the Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum.

It had a reputation for abusing its patents deemed mentally ill or sometimes referred to as idiots, dating back to when it was first constructed a few years prior to the start of the Civil War.

Work on the structure began in 1858, and groundwork was primarily completed by prisoners and slaves. By 1860, one story of the southern wing of the expansive building was under roof as the construction schedule went from the end of the building toward its center, where the distinctive 200-foot clock tower was built.

When construction completed; it somehow managed to survive that bloody period in U.S. history.

Patients kept there were treated by complete isolation, meaning that they would be housed among strangers, never to be seen by family or friends. They were not even allowed to receive gifts or mail.

Records showed as many as one hundred individuals had been sterilised between 1929 and 1956.

It wasn't until the 1950s that mental illness was finally being recognised and the rights of patients addressed. Still those afflicted with any hereditary form of insanity that was recurrent, idiocy, imbecility, feeble-mindedness or epilepsy, were candidates for parole or dismissal but were subject to sterilization.

At present the agents were aware of poor conditions existing here, with somewhere in the range of 2,500 to 2,800 patients housed in the facility that was meant for far less occupancy. The overcrowding made a bad situation even worse.

They were there to rescue April Dancer who while on assignment had been exposed to a THRUSH chemical that made her become incoherently hysterical.

The local police picked her up and deposited her in this hospital, and it was by sheer luck the agents were able to find out what had happened to her.

As Napoleon and Illya entered the facility both men experienced an instant feeling of sadness. Though the barred windows let in a lot of light, everything felt dark.

Once the release papers were drawn up and signed, they were escorted to the room where Dancer was being kept.

The orderly escorting them rambled on about the facility, ignoring the conditions surrounding them and talked instead about the hospital being haunted, with lots of ghosts from its grisly past. Napoleon and Illya ignored him as they were only interested in getting April out of this dismal place.

The orderly opened the door, letting them inside but he opted to remain in the corridor. As soon as they entered her padded room Illya felt it, an overwhelming feeling of grief and suffering. It was if he'd been hit in the face with a two by four piece of wood.

He staggered backwards and dropped down, curling up in the corner, whimpering like a child.

"Hurt no more, hurt no more!"

"It's the room!" April called out. She was wrapped in a straight jacket but had regained her senses.

"Napoleon there's a spirit in here, a child. He's appeared to me several times. He seems to have been retarded and was terribly abused before he died."

Solo quickly undid the straight jacket, and with her help they got Kuryakin out of there.

Once back out into the corridor, Napoleon barked at the orderly.

"Why didn't you warn us?"

"Hey wadn't I talkin' about the haints here enough already. He be fine in a few minutes now dat he out the room."

Illya was himself a short while later, but was quite unsettled after the experience. The orderly said he must have been what they called 'sensitive' and that allowed the spirit to possess him.

The ever pragmatic Russian shrugged it off, though it was obvious to Solo it was still bothering his partner.

Once out of the hospital, Illya became somewhat withdrawn so much so that he let Napoleon drive.

April sat in the front passenger seat while they let Illya lay down in the back.

"You okay April?"Napoleon whispered at last.

"I'm fine darling, don't worry about me." She reached over, laying her hand on his thigh. They were still lovers, and Solo tenderly reached down and took her hand in his.

"Illya, how you feeling back there," he asked.

There was a sigh before Kuryakin finally sat up.

"It was an awful feeling...not being possessed, if that is what happened to me. The emotions I experienced were that of innocence, yet feeling overwhelmed with loneliness, sadness, fear and pain. I have never felt anything like it. Life in that asylum to the patients there was even worse than what we observed."

Illya curled up on the back seat again and closed his eyes.

That brought discussion of the asylum's past as well as its present to an end. Illya needed to free himself of the feelings that still in essence haunted him.

Napoleon put on the radio and turned the dial, he searched for music that might help Illya's mood...it was the least he could do to help his partner feel better.

He found the crooning voice of Roy Orbison singing the song 'Dream Baby…"

"Sweet dream baby, Sweet dream baby, Sweet dream baby How long must I dream…"

"Dream on tovarisch,"Napoleon said as he peeked back at his friend.

"Thank you Napoleon, I am feeling much better. Please try to not get us lost?"

That didn't stop Kuryakin from taking a nap, not this time...

 


	26. V is for Virginia Beach

 

#  [ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12959486/22/The-ABC-Affair-II-Challenge-stories)

 

 

The music was loud but not unpleasant as the two UNCLE agents entered the club. It was touted as 'the' place to be where the nightlife scene was filled with music, drinking and dancing...among other things.

It was called the Top Hat Club, located on 30th Street and the boardwalk; it had grown from a 125 seat jazz club into a hotspot where up to 600 people could dance to the hippest music in town.

As the agents entered the packed club, Illya snapped his fingers while bobbing his head in time with the music. The band performing was ' _Bill Deal and the Rhondels';_ he thought they were pretty good.

They had the usual electric guitars and drums, but their sound was a fusion of trumpets, saxophones and an electric keyboard along with strong vocals. The band was also interracial, which was exceptional given the racial tensions that existed at the moment in the United States.

There were many other bands at other clubs, like The Peppermint Beach Club to Peabody's and Rogue's, but the Top Hat was the place to be. Every one of these places attracted sunburned beachgoers, but when people spoke of the Virginia Beach music, the name of Bill Deal and the Rhondels always came up first.

Kuryakin was dressed casually in a pair of blue jeans and a black tee shirt. Atop his head rested a pair of dark glasses; his look blended in with the crowd there to enjoy themselves

Napoleon didn't care for this kind of music as much as his partner; he preferred the likes of Mantovanni and Bacharach, so he tried to ignore the band.

He was wearing a sports jacket, polo shirt and dark pants; being without a tie was about as casual as he cared to be.

The Top Hat had a dining area filled with wooden tables and chairs, most without table cloths. The nearby counter served not only liquor but food as well, specializing in barbeque. Above the counter was an awning featuring a crescent moon, top hats, stars, saxophones and music notes. Yet it was the dance floor to which everyone was drawn.

It was a happening place all right…

Solo and Kuryakin weren't there for the music or any of the local color, they were there in search of a girl named Carolyn Carpenter.

Her father, the noted physicist Harold Carpenter, had slipped from the hands of T.H.R.U.S.H. and was now in protective custody with U.N.C.L.E.

Somehow the Thrushies found out about his daughter, though the professor had tried to keep her existence a secret; now it was a race to get to her before the enemy agents did.

Professor Carpenter told Solo where his daughter lived but after getting to her apartment, they found it had already been searched, but there was no sign of a struggle. That was at least a good sign.

He said his daughter frequented the clubs as well as the boardwalk and beach, but given it was evening, going to the clubs was Napoleon and Illya's only recourse.

They decided to start with the most popular one after having asked around. All the locals said the Top Hat, but warned it would be crowded because the Rhondels were playing there tonight.

That had to be where Carolyn was; Napoleon's gut told him so.

Everyone who'd said the place would be packed was right and as the UNCLE agents worked their way through the throngs of jiggling and wiggling young people, Napoleon spotted the girl close to the stage.

The blonde Miss Carpenter was enjoying herself as she danced and gyrated to the music in her bright orange mini dress, oblivious to the danger she was in. If they hadn't had a photograph of her, they never would have been able to locate her as nearly half the girls there were bleach blonde.

Illya tugged at his partner's sleeved pointing out two Thrushies making their way towards her. They were easy to pick out in a crowd as they were dressed in suits, ties and wearing their usual fedoras on their heads.

"What was it with THRUSH agents and those hats?"Illya wondered to himself.

Granted he often wore hats himself, but these bird brains always wore the same kind of headwear no matter where they were, with the exception being the middle east; there they tended to wear fezzes.

"You go right, I will go left,"Illya said.

"What?" Napoleon obviously couldn't hear him over the din of the music, which necessitated hand signals between the two men.

They split up and worked their way around behind the Thrush goons, and after discreetly pulling their Specials at the last second, Napoleon and Illya hit them with sleep darts.

"Too much to drink," Napoleon said to a few startled people as he lowered the unconscious agent to the floor. Illya basically said the same thing, though he was not as gentle and let his target drop with a thud, though no one really heard it.

They turned to head towards the girl but she'd moved and was now over at the counter ordering food.

Pushing their way through the crowd yet again, they came up behind her.

"Miss Carpenter may we speak with your for a minute?" Napoleon said.

' _What?"_

"Miss Carpenter we need to speak with you," Illya repeated.

"Wait, I can't hear you, could we move towards the door?"

Both men immediately nodded; Napoleon paid for the french fries she'd ordered and together they walked with the girl towards the exit where it was a little quieter.

Once there, Solo pulled his gold ID card from his breast pocket and held it up for her to see.

"Miss Carpenter, my name is Napoleon Solo and I'm with the U.N.C.L.E. this is my partner Illya Kuryakin. We're here on behalf of your father who asked us to ...how can I say this? Get you to safety. There's an organization that recently kidnapped your father, as they wanted his work for their nefarious schemes, but he was able to escape; he sought our help as he believed they'd be coming after you."

"You would be their leverage they need to get him to surrender himself to them," Illya added. "We just stopped two of them here a few minutes ago."

"Are you joking? Did my friend Pauley put you up to this?"

"Miss Carpenter I assure you this is no joke," Napoleon said.

Illya held up his communicator and pointed to it. Solo nodded his approval.

"Channel D- Waverly."

"Yes Mister Kuryakin, do you have the girl?" Waverly responded.

"Yes. Is Professor Carpenter available to speak to his daughter sir? She needs a bit of convincing."

"Yes, one moment." The Old Man handed the microphone to her father.

"Carolyn it's daddy. I need you to go with Mister Solo and Mister Kuryakin. They were sent to find you. What they told you about me being kidnapped was true. Sweetheart, you're in danger. "

"Daddy! Are you all right?"

"Yes I am, now hurry, please go with them."

"Okay daddy I will." They could hear the fear in her voice.

"We are leaving now sir, Kuryakin out."

They stepped on either side of the girl, but she stopped.

"Wait, I have to tell my friends...what about my things at my apartment?"

"No time, " Napoleon took her by the arm.

"Someone will be sent to gather your things," Illya said.

As soon as they were out in the parking lot they walked straight into three more THRUSH agents, and a gun battle quickly ensued.

The trio ducked behind a sedan; Napoleon and Illya returned fire.

Everything was muffled as they all were using silencers and the only sound that could be heard back and forth was,

" _ **pffft... pffft-pffft!"**_

Minutes later it was over with the Thrushmen out of commission.

Solo looked back to the girl, but he found her lying dead in a pool of blood behind him. She'd been hit in the head.

"Damn!" He cursed.

Both men bowed their heads for a moment.

"Do you want me to call Mister Waverly?" Illya softly asked.

Neither of them took the loss of an innocent well, but since Solo had the lead on this assignment, he was perhaps taking it harder.

"No, I will…"

It was a task Illya did not envy his partner. It was always difficult to report the death of a charge, Waverly knew that and understood these things happened. Still that didn't make it any easier.

It was the professor who would not understand...

 


End file.
